Handcuffs and Paper Flowers
by CrystalSelkie
Summary: Now caught in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with the man with the ring, Nora's mysterious past catches up as she makes a play for the thing that will set Kyle free: the music box. With old friends - and old enemies - Peter and Nora's trust is put to the test. Part Two of the Handcuffs and High Heels series. Genderbent Neal AU, episodes 8-14.
1. Business as Usual

_Summary: Now caught in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with the man with the ring, Nora's mysterious past catches up as she makes a play for the thing that will set Kyle free: the music box. With old friends - and old enemies - Peter and Nora's trust is put to the test. Part Two of the Handcuffs and High Heels series. __Genderbent Neal AU, episodes 8-14. _

_Author's Note: Welcome back! As promised, the continuation of Handcuffs and High Heels, kicking off with Hard Sell, and going through to Out of the Box. Thanks so much for sticking around for part two! Hope you guys enjoy!_

_-Selkie_

* * *

Chapter One

Business as Usual

The room was dim, and it was just the two of them. Just Nora and the man with the ring. He was obscured in shadows. Nora trembled. "What do you want from me? Let Kyle go, and you can have it."

The man was silent. "Please," she begged. "Whatever it is, if I have it, it's yours. Just let him come home." He just stared, his silhouette cocking its head to the side, as if bored. "Answer me, you coward!" she growled.

He started to walk forward, each step bringing him closer to the light. Slowly. Agonizingly. _Click. Click. Click._ Nora's heart pounded furiously in her chest. _ Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. _After an eternity, he stepped into the light. The man with the ring was-

Nora woke in a cold sweat, bolting upright and gasping for air. Ever since running in on Mentor, that nightmare – or some variation of it – haunted her night after night. Her conversation with Fowler had shaken her down to her core.

Fowler had implied that Peter was the man with the ring. But, there was no way. Peter was as straight laced and by the book as they came. There was no way he would hold someone hostage, then proceed to pretend to be her friend while secretly tormenting her for months.

_No, I didn't bug your phone, Nora_.

She shook the thoughts away. As much as she hated to admit it, she couldn't stop herself from eyeing her 'partner' with suspicion. Every day at work was torture, not knowing if every word out of his mouth was a lie or not…

She couldn't help but laugh. _He probably wonders the exact same thing about me_. What a pair they made.

With some difficulty, Nora managed to fall back into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

It had become something of a habit for Mozzie to come over day after day. They'd taken to playing chess. Mozzie tended to get philosophical when he played chess, and while it got on her nerves from time to time, she humored him.

"If only there were someway to compare this to your life," he mused as he moved his pieces.

"I get it, Moz," she sighed. "I'm a pawn." She studied the board, deciding on her next move. "Your analogy lacks creative thinking."

"You're upset because it's accurate. See," he said, tapping her queen, "Kyle has reign over the entire board, while your movements are more... restricted."

She slumped back in her seat. "Fowler has to be lying about Peter. There's no way he has Kyle."

Mozzie looked at her as if she was a naive child. "Nora, everyone has a price. And Peter's been in the perfect position to control everything. I hate to give the suit credit, but he's smart."

"I know him," she protested, voice soft. "There's no way he could do it."

"If you're so sure, then prove it." He took Nora's king. "You find the ring, you find the king."

"See if he has it," she summarized.

He nodded. "I'm the bishop, if you were wondering."

"I wasn't," she said flatly.

"Oh." A glance at his somewhat dejected expression put a small smile back on her face.

* * *

Peter couldn't help but feel the familiar swell of excitement as he went over their new case. It was a big one. He walked with Agent Landry while they discussed the case. Landry had misgivings, which Peter had been working all morning to quell.

"You trust her?" he asked flatly.

Peter chucked. That was a loaded question. "Look, she's the one you want for this."

Landry made a face. "Well, you didn't answer my question."

Peter paused, watching as Nora strolled up to them, cheerful and chipper as always. "Morning, Peter," she said brightly before turning to take a look at their guest.

"Agent Landry," Peter introduced as the two shook hands, "meet Nora Caffrey."

"Conwoman turned FBI consultant," Landry mused.

As expected, Nora grinned. "My reputation precedes me."

"Well, you're hard to miss," Landry joked, pulling a newspaper out from under his arm and unfolding it. Nora's less than flattering mugshot adorned the front. "You took a swan dive out of a judge's chamber into a bakery awning." He held it up for her to see, as if she needed to be reminded.

She sighed. "I really don't like that picture," she huffed. "But, they do have the greatest cake in town." Peter looked at her in exasperation. "What's up?"

"Agent Landry is here from the Dallas field office," Peter explained. "He's following a boiler room case."

"Actually," Landry cut in, "I'm still catching Burke up on the details." He looked at Nora pointedly, and she just nodded. "Nice to meet you."

Nora glanced back and forth between them for a moment before she took the hint. "Oh, yeah." She backed away, and moved to chat with another agent at his desk.

"You think Caffrey's the right person for this job?" Landry asked once she was out of earshot.

"Oh, yeah," he assured him, not even pausing to consider it.

"She's a criminal."

"So are the guys in the boiler room," Peter reminded him. "Look, I busted her for bond forgery."

"I know the story," Landry huffed. "Then the girl breaks out of prison."

"Three months left on a four-year sentence."

"Then she's an air-head."

"No," Peter laughed. "No. It was for a guy." They watched for a moment as Nora chatted with the other agent, laughing and flipping her hair while he told what Peter guessed was some stupid joke.

"Well, it looks like she could have her pick."

"Yeah, well, there's something special about Kyle." Nora moved to another agent's desk and began chatting with her, a young probie named Lisa. "Point is, he's no longer an issue."

Landry studied Nora for a moment, eyes moving down toward her feet. Her anklet barely peeked out under the leg of her light gray pants. "You got a tracking anklet on her? How's that work?"

"We can pull a map on her movements at any time. If she's working, or with me, we don't worry about it. When she's off the clock, she's on a two-mile radius. She goes outside that, we get an alert."

Landry sighed, still not sold. "Look," Peter huffed, "you need somebody who can sweet-talk their way into a high-pressure sales environment." He pointed toward Nora. "She's your girl."

They watched as Nora excused herself from Lisa and started back toward them. She was studying some slips of paper Lisa had given her. "I got some Ranger's tickets," she explained. "Box seats." Peter smirked at Landry, who looked bemused. "Sports aren't really my thing. You guys interested?"

Landry sighed. "Okay."

Nora tucked the tickets into his breast pocket, patting them lightly. "Boop!"

* * *

Peter gathered the team in the conference room. "This is a boiler room scam," Peter began. "We've got an office full of junior Gordon Geckos selling bad stock. It's a classic pump and dump. Guy in charge buys half a million shares of dollar stocks. Gets his boys to inflate the price by selling it over the phone. Then dumps his stock when it peaks, leaving our buyers holding worthless shares." He moved aside, letting Landry take the floor, coming to stand behind Nora.

"People are losing their homes over this," Landry added. He looked pointedly at Nora. "Guy last month got taken for $50,000. He's got three kids, and no roof to put over their heads now."

"The average victim of this scam looses nearly thirty grand," Peter continued. "So we need to shut this room down."

"Room's mobile?" Nora asked.

"They've run this four times now," Landry explained. "Every time they dump the stock, they pick up and move to another location."

Nora glanced over the file. "Who's the guy in charge?" she asked, not seeing anything about it in the information they'd compiled.

"That's what we're trying to figure out," Landry said.

"Landry's got somebody on the inside," Peter continued, going back around the table to stand with Landry, "a female informant."

"Female," Nora noted, impressed. "How'd she work her way into the boy's club?"

Landry sighed. "She hasn't."

"That's why we're sending in someone who we think _can_." Peter started walking toward her, not looking up from his file. "Someone who can hustle with the best of them" He snapped the file closed and tossed it in front of her.

Everyone started staring at her expectantly. "I guess we won't be drawing straws."


	2. Boy's Club

Chapter Two

Boy's Club

After the meeting, the team dispersed. Nora and Peter continued the conversation in Peter's office. "You're gonna be interviewing with a guy named Brad," he explained as he put on his jacket.

"Of course his name is Brad," she joked. "You think I can keep up with these guys? Peter, I'm flattered. If Landry's girl didn't manage to get in, why do you think I'll do any better?"

"Give me a break," he huffed. "You could sell light switches to the Amish." They sat down. "Madison Cookler, that's our girl on the inside."

He handed her a photo. "Wow, she's gorgeous." She had long, blonde hair and a radiant smile.

"Yeah," Peter agreed idly. "She won't know who you are."

"What's her role in all this?"

"The guys transfer the calls after they make a sale to her. She takes down all the buyers' information. But thanks to her, we know exactly what kind of stocks these guys are looking to hock. We went fishing with several of our own front companies." Nora nodded, reading as he spoke. "They took the bait on that one. Rhymer Pharmaceutical.

"You got a tap on every phone in the place," Nora read.

"Yup. We're recording every call. But the sales are real. We just want to know who's behind it all."

"So do I," she muttered, not really talking about the case. She'd barely realized she'd spoken aloud.

"What's that?"

She snapped her eyes up to him, sucking in a breath. "Nothing." She cleared her throat. He let it go, pulling something off his desk. It looked like a pen. He came around, sitting on the edge of the desk for her to see. "For me? Peter, I didn't get you anything."

He pressed a button, and her own voice mimicked what she'd just said. She grinned. _Okay, that's cool_. "We call it an Eagle," he explained. "Recorder, transmitter, GPS." He handed it over, and she rolled it around in her fingers. "Keep it on you at all times."

He headed out of the room. "Love it," she muttered as she stood to follow him.

They headed down the stairs. "We need to cut your anklet on this one."

"Love it even more."

"No, you don't." He dropped his voice down low as they crossed the bullpen. "After your last escape, we need a home run." Her grin faded, and she nodded soberly. "A lot of people think I made a mistake."

"Let's prove them wrong," she challenged, stepping into the open elevator.

Peter stopped outside the door. "Yeah," he sighed. "Or else you headed back to maximum-security."

_Naturally_. She slapped the file against his chest. "Glad some things never change."

* * *

Nora changed at home. Since the case was off-anklet, she opted for a maroon pencil skirt and a matching blouse, taking the opportunity to soak in the last of the summer sun. The anklet was cut in the van, and Nora made her way toward the boiler room.

She went over in her head all the ways she knew to break into boy's clubs. Crime in general tended to be a bit like that. A lot of men underestimated her abilities because she was a woman, and she had to work twice as hard to prove herself to be just as capable as any man doing the same work.

She strolled in confidently, eyes raking over everything as she went. Desks with computers were spread across an otherwise barren room. The exterior of the room was all windows, and provided a nice view over the city.

She marched up to the man she presumed was Brad, with blond hair and an impish face. _He does look like a Brad_. His desk was nicer than the others, set farther away. He leaned back in his chair, drinking an energy drink. The woman from the photo Peter had shown her, Madison, walked up to him.

"Madison," he said cheerfully, "give me some good news."

"Two closes, thirty-two hundred shares." She smiled, handing him a slip of paper.

"Yes!" He took the paper. "That is what I like to hear." He signed it and returned it to her.

Nora saw him staring at Madison's butt for a moment as she retreated. Then his eyes locked on Nora, raking her up and down. She kept a pleasant expression plastered on anyway. "Well, hello. Can I help you?"

"You're Brad?" she guessed.

"I am. Who are you?"

"Natalie Halden."

His face went blank for a moment, then sparked with realization. "You're the N. Halden here for an interview?"

"Unless you know another N. Halden." She offered out her hand, and he shook it. "My friends call me Nat." He stood up and came around the desk, briefly referring to a sheet of paper before speaking.

"Right. Nat… You're U5 says you were terminated from Lehman Brothers."

"Oh, yeah," she sighed. "The market crashed. Wasn't feeling the love." She patted her purse pointedly.

"Oh, you couldn't find a job working anywhere else?" There was a note of superiority in his town. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"I wasn't interested," she corrected smoothly. "I want to make some real cash."

Brad shifted uncomfortably. "We've kind of got enough ladies to take the transfers-

"I didn't come here to clean," she said firmly, crossing her arms, and Brad's eyes grew wide. "I came here to work." He glanced around, licking his lips nervously. She grinned, crossing her arms. "Oh, I get it. You don't want to get shown up by a woman."

"No, no!" He held up his hands defensively. _Works every time_. He started walking toward the desks. "Nothing like that. It's just, most women aren't as… comfortable doing this job. Listen, our turnover rate it huge. High volume, high money. You make sales, you get paid."

"Okay." She flashed a cocky smile. "Let's do this."

"Hang on a second, I haven't hired you yet." He turned to a man at the nearest desk and tapped him on the shoulder. "You, take a break." The man walked away. "Let's start your interview."

Nora took the man's spot and picked up a headset. "Want to give me some numbers?" Brad pulled up a list, and Nora scanned it quickly.

"Take your pick, sweetheart."

Ignoring that, she picked one of the numbers. "This two-one-six area code feels lucky," she decided.

Brad pulled on his own headset. "Come on, newbie. Mr. Charles Fairweather is waiting for the deal of a lifetime."

She started dialing. "What am I selling him?"

"The dream," Brad offered vaguely. "Which today is Rhymer Pharmaceutical."

The phone started ringing. "Hello." She wasn't surprised to hear Peter's voice on the other end.

"Mr. Fairweather?"

"Speaking."

"Hi, my name is Natalie Halden, and I want to be your broker," she said smoothly.

"I've already got a broker," Peter said flatly. _Good, Peter, don't give me an easy sell. Make me work for it_.

"Really? How's he doing for you? Make any money last year?"

"Nobody made any money last year," he scoffed.

"That's not true," she argued. "If you were with me, you'd have netted three percent. And that's _after_ the crash."

"I don't believe you."

Brad laughed under his breath, thinking she was going to crash and burn. "You got an email address? I'll send you my earnings report right now," she bluffed. "Biotech and alcohol were up."

Peter switched gears. "How did you get my number?"

"Your old broker," she lied. "He's not smart enough to keep you to himself. What do you do for a living, Charlie?"

"I'm a history teacher, but I'm not interes-"

She spoke over him. "'The only history worth a damn is the history we make today,'" she quoted. "You know who said that?"

"I believe Henry Ford said that." _Very good, Peter_.

"Yes. Yes, he did. And he was right. Have you heard of Rhymer Pharmaceutical?"

"No."

"Of course you haven't, because your job is to teach, and my job is to know about companies like Rhymer before everyone else. You know when you _don't_ buy a stock? When your cab driver tells you about it." She took a breath. "Now, if you'd known about IBM before the invention of the microchip, would you have bought in?"

"Of course."

"Well, Rhymer is poised for a breakout on the same scale," she lied. "Monday, the FDA will approve them to begin clinical trials on a quantum-confined nanotechnology that has the potential to transform cancer medicines." She glanced at Brad out of the corner of her eye. He was clearly enjoying the show. A crowd of guys had gathered around. "And I can get you in on the ground floor."

"That sounds like insider trading," Peter protested.

"Not at all. No, it's completely legit. Look, I pour over a thousand pages of scientific, technical BS so I can make you rich at three bucks a share." She slowed down. "Let's start small, okay? A thousand shares. I double that for you next week, and then we get serious."

"Sounds nice," Peter allowed. "But I'd have to ask my wife."

Brad sucked in a breath, covering his mouthpiece. "Your sale just died, rookie."

_Don't count on it_. "Mr. Fairweather, if you invest with me, the only question you'll have to ask your wife is what kind of hardwood floors does she want in her new house."

"I don't know..."

"Life comes down to a few moments, Mr. Fairweather. This is one of them."

Peter was silent for a long moment. It seemed like no one was daring to breathe. Brad's eyes were wide as they waited. "I'm in," Peter decided, "but let's make it five thousand shares."

Nora grinned broadly up at Brad. "Thank you. I'll transfer you over to one of our lovely ladies, and she'll take your information." She transferred the call, and pulled the headset off. "So, how did my interview go?"

Brad was speechless for a long moment. "Yes!" he decided, raising his hand for a high five. She met it. "Yes!" Nora shrugged, still grinning. He'd eaten his words, and Nora had made it into the boy's club.


	3. Avery

Chapter Three

Avery

Nora began the monotonous routine of calling and selling, calling and selling, calling and selling. She played each call by ear, altering each pitch and strategy to the attitude of the person on the other end. It was like a game, a flashback to an old life. Her sales numbers went up and up and up.

It didn't take long before her numbers were beating the guy in second place by a mile. Brad was impressed. Though, he still looked at her like a piece of meat, but Nora could live with that.

After a long day, Brad stopped by Nora's desk. "Come on, Crazy Eight, let's go."

She raised an eyebrow. "Crazy Eight?" she asked, not trying to keep the distaste out of her tone.

"No?"

"No."

Brad shrugged. "You land close to eight whales in one day, you can buy your own nickname." Nora couldn't stop the smug smile. Brad turned to address the room. "Time to hit the bars!" The men erupted into a cheer.

Nora stood. "We're not going with them," Brad said softly.

"Why not?"

"He wants to meet you."

_Sooner than expected_. "Who?"

Brad smiled. "The man behind the curtain."

She gave him a stern look. "I swear to God, Brad, if that's another euphemism for-"

His face went pale. "It's not! I mean it. The guy who runs this whole show. He wants to meet you."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

* * *

_Finally,_ Peter thought. It had been day after day of listening to Nora make sales. And, while a lot of her sales pitches were interesting, and it was always kind of amusing listening to her work, it got old fast. After just a few short days, Nora was meeting the man in charge.

Jones looked up at him. "If Caffrey goes out of range, we'll lose her audio."

"That's okay," Peter decided. "She's still recording." _And, more importantly, we'll still have the GPS on the pen_.

It was what they needed. Peter trusted Nora enough to do the talking. It certainly wasn't going to change whether Peter could hear every word or not. They watched as she and Brad came out onto the street and started walking.

* * *

Brad led Nora to an upscale bar. The décor was modern and expensive, as were the clothes the bar's patrons wore. It was a bar for the rich, a place where Nora might have gone in a different life.

They stopped near the door, and Brad covertly pointed out a man seated at a table not too far away. He was surprisingly young, with a boyish face. "That's him?"

"That's Avery," Brad confirmed. "Guy on the left." The guy on the right was older, maybe a mentor or something. They weren't having a pleasant conversation. "He's the youngest guy to have a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. He's the man with the plan. He finds the stock, fronts the cash, we do the legwork."

_You talk too much, Brad_. On the bright side, the feds were getting exactly what they needed to hear, thanks to her fancy little pen.

"Who's he talking to?" she asked, trying to get Brad to spill as much as he knew.

"His business partner."

"Partner looks upset," she noted.

"Usually, they work together. Our room is all Avery, which is why they're not exactly simpatico right now." She nodded. "Keep that to yourself," he added quickly.

Avery excused himself from his partner and headed toward them. Nora smiled as he approached. He glanced from Brad to Nora for a moment. "You must be my new rainmaker." He offered her a drink.

"Yeah," she allowed with a lighthearted shrug. _Keep that to yourself… As if_. "I see your having problems with your associate."

"Nat..." Brad hissed, staring at her as if she'd just reached out and slapped Avery.

She ignored him. "I don't wanna get pinched because you're having domestic troubles."

Avery smiled, a little tight, but there was also some humor in it. He barked out a small chuckled. "Brad said you were feisty." She shot a dark look at Brad who took a hasty step away. "I like it. What my business partner and I discuss isn't of your concern. Just go relax. Have fun." He lifted up his glass to them and turned back the way he'd come.

Brad looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. "Not cool," he chided.

Nora glared at him. "Feisty?" He swallowed hard. She smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Oh, you have no idea, Brad."

She did her best to 'relax' and 'have fun,' but that was easier said than done with Brad at her heels. She knew Peter would be waiting up for her to check in, so after a few casual questions about Avery, she excused herself, citing a sudden bout of fatigue. He gave her a hard time, but let her go.

She dialed Peter as she walked. He answered quickly. "It's a little early for you to be calling it a night, isn't it?" he teased.

"Yeah, well, I got the man behind the curtain."

"So it wasn't a euphemism for-"

"No," she snapped. "His name is Avery Philips."

Peter was silent for a moment. "Alright, I want to get moving on this," he decided. "Meet me in the office in an hour."

"I'm in your neighborhood," she said lightly, "why don't we meet at your place?" _Find the ring, find the king_.

"My place?"

"Yeah, it's a little late for the bland bureau walls. Besides, you have better coffee."

Peter sighed, considering it. "Yeah, I do," he decided. _Coffee is your weakness, Agent Burke._

Half an hour later, the team was set up in Peter's living room. Elizabeth, having been woken by the ruckus, was a surprisingly good sport about it. "Coffee, my dear?" she offered to Jones with a sleepy smile.

"Thank you, Mrs. Burke," he said, gratefully taking the steaming mug.

"You're welcome. I was gonna be up in, what, six hours anyway." She looked pointedly at Peter as she retreated back into the kitchen.

"Thanks, honey," he offered. Nora sipped her own coffee. _So much better than bureau tar_. Peter hooked the pen up to his computer to listen to Nora's conversation with Brad and Avery. "Alright, let's see what you've got recorded here."

They listened to Brad's explanation of Avery. "That's a good start," Peter allowed. "Jones?"

Jones quickly swallowed his mouthful of coffee. "Mm, Lauren's pulling up intel on Philips. Check your email."

Peter typed, pulling it up. "Oh, Avery's been very busy," Peter mused as he glanced over the email.

"Yeah." Nora sat down her coffee. "I'm gonna go rummage through your drawers and steal your most precious belongings." Peter glared at her. "I'm kidding." _Kind of…_ "I need to go to the bathroom."

He nodded. "Upstairs, first door on your left," he reminded her. She headed for the stairs. On her way up, she caught sight of the photos on the wall and stopped to look at them. They were sweet, sentimental pictures of Peter and Elizabeth. The first, she thought, was them on their honeymoon.

She almost walked past the second one. Peter stood next to Elizabeth, arm stretched across her, hand resting on a door frame. Nora's stomach dropped into her shoes. Just in frame was the thing she'd dreaded to see. The ring. On his finger. "I'll be damned," she breathed. _No… not Peter. Anyone but Peter._

But it was Peter.

Peter was the man with the ring.

"Everything alright?" Elizabeth's soft voice called, cutting her out of her spiraling thoughts.

Nora spun around, struggling to pull a mask back in place. "Never been better," she lied. "Just admiring your photos."


	4. Man of Many Faces

Chapter Four

Man of Many Faces

Nora started acting weird after coming back from the bathroom, Peter decided. She stared sullenly, eyes troubled and clouded in thought. He wondered if she was feeling alright. _She's probably just tired_, he reminded himself.

She'd done her part for the night, so he sent her home. He offered to let her stay in the guest room, but she declined, choosing to call a cab.

She met them back in the office later that morning, looking refreshed. He'd already called a team into the conference room. She walked up to him, still looking a little downcast. "Find anything?" she asked flatly.

"Oh, hey. Uh… Maybe. Avery's credible on paper," he explained. "He runs a separate, legit brokerage with this man, Daniel Reed." He held up a photo.

Nora took it. "I saw them arguing. They're partners."

"Yeah, but they don't trust each other."

She grinned. "Sounds par for the course."

"Checked with FINRA. Their business is profitable, but something tells me that Avery's trying to push out Reed. They've run the boiler room scam together in the past, maybe for startup capital. But according to your new boyfriend, Brad, this current shop is all Avery." She nodded slowly. "He's planning something on his own."

Peter started to walk away. "So, let me wrap my head around this for a second," she said. He stopped. "Let's say I'm Reed, you're Avery. You're trying to screw me." Her tone wasn't as light and playful as it normally was. She was all business. "Why?"

"Money," Peter guessed.

"It's that simple?"

He shrugged. "Isn't it always?"

"So, you manipulate your friends and people around you?"

He nodded, trying to get into Avery's head. "Yeah. All to get rid of you."

She didn't smile. "I never saw it coming."

* * *

Nora and Mozzie picked their chess game back up on her lunch hour. She wasn't paying attention, really, too lost in her own thoughts. Mozzie noticed; he always noticed. "What's with you?"

"I found the ring," she admitted, voice small. She took a deep breath. "It's Peter." Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away. Anger coursed through her anew and she lashed out, swiping the chess pieces off the table. The heavy metal pieces _thunk_ed and _clunck_ed loudly on the wood floor. Her hand started to throb.

Mozzie leaned back. She didn't lash out often, but when she did, it worried him. She buried her face in her hands. "I'm so sorry, hon," he said softly, pulling his glasses off. "I truly am."

She shook her head, sniffling a little. "I don't understand why," she muttered.

"He's a suit," Mozzie reminded her. "This is what they do." She wasn't sure she agreed with that, but what other explanation was there? "You gonna play it out?"

She sighed. She'd been debating it all night. "What choice do I have?"

He slipped his glasses back on. "Well, they've got you off your anklet for this one. You could run."

That, of course, had crossed her mind. It was becoming more tempting by the minute. "I'd need some cash."

"We can _get_ cash." Nora swallowed hard. "But what are you gonna do?"

She didn't answer immediately, mind churning. _Once I run, there's no coming back_.

"Get the money."

* * *

Peter gathered the agents – and Nora – in the bullpen to go over everything. "We know who we're after. Now all we need is proof that Avery is getting a cut of the profits in the room."

"Can't we get the boiler room books?" Jones suggested.

"We make that request, we tip our hand and they close shop. No, we need another way in."

"We already set up a company they're exploiting," Lauren offered. "How about a CEO to exploit them?"

"Where are you going with this?" Peter asked.

"Let's say that the owner of Rhymer Pharmaceuticals is on to the scam. So, he walked into Avery's office with a proposal: earning reports with a share of the profits in exchange for silence." It was a good idea.

"We create the right backstory, give this CEO a working history… it could fly." It was a very good idea. "Question is, who do we send?"

"How about you?" Nora suggested very suddenly. She'd been standing silently off to the side the entire time. Peter had almost forgotten she was there. "You look like a guy people can trust." Her smile was just slightly off, but Peter couldn't quite put his finger on how.

He shrugged. "But I'd also believe you could be bought," she added, tone coming off a bit more harsh than Peter thought she realized. "For the right price." Peter gave her a quizzical look. _What is your problem today_? "If you played it right, I mean." She smiled sweetly.

Peter glanced around, all eyes on the two of them. "Alright, that's all," he barked. The agents dispersed. He pulled her off to the side. She still hadn't dropped the uncanny smile. "Do we have a problem?"

"Why would there be a problem?" That sounded like a loaded question. Peter didn't answer. "No, I'm just excited to see you go undercover. It doesn't happen very often."

He wasn't sure he believed her, but he let it slide. "It happens more than you think," he assured her, placing his hands on his hips. "I still have some active aliases."

"You're a man of many faces."

She walked away before he could respond. _Did she just call me two-faced_? He couldn't wrap his head around it. They'd been doing so well. What was she upset about now?

But Peter didn't have time to worry about that. They had a boiler room scam to shut down, after all.

* * *

It was back to work in the boy's club for Nora. She continued to soar above every one else, making sale after sale. It proved a good distraction from her anger toward Peter and her slowly budding plans of escaping.

"I appropriate your business, ma'am," she said sweetly, closing another deal. "I'm going to transfer you over to my associate, Madison." Brad rushed over, waving a hand for her to wait. "Will you hold on just a second?" She covered the mic. "I'm about to close a sale."

"That's cool," Brad said, shifting slightly. "Just don't transfer the call to Madison."

"Why not?" she asked, not liking the sound of that.

"Just do what you're told," he snapped.

She raised an eyebrow. "What, am I an intern, here?"

He sighed. "Look, I have no idea what's going on here. Avery says freeze out Madison, that's what we do." Nora's eyes caught on Madison, carrying on as if nothing was wrong. "Just go to Linda for now."

"Alright," she agreed, pushing down the bad feeling she was getting.

"Oh, by the way, Avery's having a party at his place on Saturday. Clear your calendar." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, but backed off at a glare from Nora. She returned to her phone call.

* * *

Peter got the update from Lauren and Jones that Avery was starting to get suspicious of Madison as he was preparing for his undercover role. They had to get a move on before something worse happened.

Peter was shown to a conference room where Avery had been speaking with his team. The team cleared out, and Peter entered. "Mr. Edison," Avery greeted, coming to shake his hand. "Glad to meet you."

Peter chuckled. "No you're not."

Avery didn't look fazed. "Direct. I like that."

Peter got even more direct. "I know what you're doing to my company. Rhymer Pharmaceutical isn't worth all that attention. Tell me why a guy like you is buying all those shares."

"You have proof I bought any shares?" Avery dodged.

"We both know how these games are played. I may not work on Wall Street, but that doesn't mean I can't smell a shark in a suit." Avery looked taken aback. _Too direct, Avery_? "You're making a move. Some kind of move. And you're setting yourself up big. It's what guys like you do."

"Why are you here, Mr. Edison?" Avery asked, moving to grab his coat off the chair at the back of the room.

"Bottom line?"

"Yeah."

"I want in," Peter said flatly. "The money you stand to make from taking over my company means that you owe me board membership to your firm. I'm not talking about controlling interest. Just a taste of the profit."

"Or what?"

"Or I talk to the feds. Or I talk to the shareholders."

Avery marched back up to him, smiling in exasperation. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yeah," Peter assured him. "I'll give you until Monday to give me your projected earnings. You know what you stand to lose. I wanna know what I stand to make." Peter turned to leave.

"I'll tell you what," Avery said, stopping Peter. "I'm having a get-together this weekend."

_The one Jones said Nora was invited to_. "I'm not here to be your friend."

"If we're gonna do business off the books," Avery countered, "we should discuss it off the clock."

Peter considered it, nodding slowly. "Fair enough. What do you have in mind?"


	5. Skeet Shooting

Chapter Five

Skeet Shooting

Nora watched from behind Brad as he aimed a gun toward the sky. Just watching made her nervous. Guns and alcohol weren't a great combination, and she wasn't sure how much she trusted a gun in that moron's hands _sober_, much less after the couple of beers he'd downed before the guys decided they wanted to try their hands skeet shooting.

The party was not to her taste, but she could hardly complain. The air was chilly as fall began to creep in. She was bundled up, due to the cold breeze off the water.

"Pull!" he shouted. He aimed his shot and pulled the trigger. The disc exploded into shards. He was, thankfully, a good shot. The guys around her clapped. She joined in politely. Her eyes caught on Peter in the distance, heading into the house with Avery.

"What's going on over there?" she wondered aloud to Brad.

"Avery's doing a little business," he explained. "Maybe you should mind your own." He cocked the gun threateningly. She raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the gun briefly.

"You know, you're a little psycho." There was a moment of awkward silence between them before they both started laughing. Nora didn't quite understand his sense of humor, but she played along for the sake of the role. "I slandered," she joked.

"Come on, Crazy Eight." he prompted, offering her the gun, "You're on deck, sweetheart."

"No, no," she passed, "I'm cool, man. You're already loaded. You take that shot." She stepped back casually.

He rolled his eyes, but didn't argue. "Pull!"

* * *

Avery led Peter inside. He'd glanced over at Nora, who mingled with the guys out in the yard shooting skeet. She looked out of her element. _You know guns aren't my style._

Avery had expensive tastes, go figure. "Nice place," Peter acknowledged. There were several guitars on the walls, and other frivolous things that probably served no other purpose than to look impressive.

"What can I say? I'm a boy with my toys. What's life like without a little fun, huh?"

They pulled off their hats and scarves, and Avery flopped onto an expensive leather sofa. "How old are you, anyway?" Peter asked.

"Twenty-nine this month." _Awful young to be throwing your life away with some stupid scheme_. He remembered that Nora had only been twenty-eight when he arrested her the first time. "But just because I'm ahead of the curve doesn't mean I can't enjoy my success." Peter nodded, offering a disinterested hmm. "Wanna see something really cool?"

"Sure."

Avery stood and rounded the couch. "Come with me." He led Peter down a long, hallway. The room at the end was stark white. Shelves and boxes lined the back wall, and framed comic books hung on the sides.

"Comics," Peter said lamely, not sure what he was expecting.

"My prize possessions," Avery said proudly. "I've been collecting since I was a kid."

"You still are a kid."

"Guilty as charged." He fidgeted with one of the framed comics, straightening out the chain it hung from. "Peter Pan in the flesh. Every kid needs inspiration. These were mine. See this one?" He pointed to one that read 'Action Detective Squad.'

"This is nice," Peter offered, not knowing a lot about comic book.

"I could trade that for your car." _That just seems a bit much_.

"You like superheroes."

Avery nodded. "Those that go above and beyond what the ordinary human can do? Yeah."

Peter smirked. "That's you," he guessed, seeing what Avery thought of himself, "minus the cape."

Avery milled about, moving to the center of the room. "You'll love this. This vault is completely tricked out. If there's a fire, the room clamps down and the air is sucked out in ten seconds." He chuckled.

"That's pretty cool."

"Damn right." Avery turned to stare at Peter, eyes taking a hard gleam. "You steal from me, same thing. The door shuts, you die with no air to hear yourself scream."

_I'm thinking a little less superhero, and a little more super villain_, Peter decided.

* * *

Nora was getting fed up of watching Brad shoot. She glanced over at the house, keeping an eye out. Peter had been inside with Avery for a long time. Finally, the two men came back through the door and started heading their way. Nora clapped as Brad made another shot.

"Mr. Edison, these are the guys." _Ooh, I'm one of the guys now_, she thought blandly. _Lucky me_. "Guys, this is Mr. Edison." He pointed toward the skeet shooter. "Who's up?"

"Nat is," Brad said immediately.

"Nah, I'm good. You go ahead."

Brad rolled his eyes. "She's been passing on us all day," he complained.

"Not really a gun gal," she said with a shrug.

"That's alright, sweetheart," Peter teased, taking the gun from Brad instead. "Let the boys play with the toys."

She glared at him. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

He gave her a pointed look. "No, I don't think you do." She just stared at him.

"Nat," Brad breathed, "back off."

"It's alright," Peter shrugged. "Is there a problem, _Nat_?"

She swallowed hard. _You're damn right there's a problem_, she wished she could scream. _You've been lying to my face for months. You've got Kyle, you son of a bitch_.

"Natalie, take the shot," Avery ordered, putting plugs in his ears. She glanced between him and Peter for a moment. Then she took the gun from Peter's hands. He stared at her, bewildered.

"Pull," she told the guy running the shooter. In a smooth move, she snapped the gun closed where Peter had loaded it and took aim quickly, drawing a deep breath. The first disc burst into shards. "Pull." Disc number two was reduced to rubble.

Everyone was silent for a moment, all eyes on her. Then the guys started clapping, impressed. Peter's mouth was agape. She rounded on him, still scowling. "Just because I don't like guns, doesn't mean I can't use one." She passed the gun back to him pointedly.

"Damn," Avery mused, smiling. "That was crazy. You really know how to shoot, sweetheart."

Nora's eyes caught on a commotion back at the house. Madison was being led not-so-nicely inside by a man. Her stomach sank. Peter followed her eyes. They shared a look, and her anger was superseded by concern. They needed to do something before Madison got hurt.

"Why don't you boys keep the party going," Avery suggested, taking the gun from Peter. "You can have a cocktail, shoot something." He loaded the gun. _He's going to kill her_. "We've got some business to take care of."

He headed toward the house. "Hey, man," she whispered to Brad, "why is Madison here?"

"Just shoot some birds, Nat," he muttered, walking away. Nora swallowed hard.

"They know she's the mole," she breathed to Peter, who'd stayed behind as the others headed toward the house.

"Damn it. This is gonna go bad fast." He sighed, thinking for a plan. "Back my play."

"No," she huffed.

He glared at her. "Nora, what is wrong with you?"

_This is it._ "I saw your ring," she spat.

"What?"

"I know you've got Kyle."

He hissed in frustration. "A lot of us have those rings. _Not now_. Back my play." He turned away from her. "Hey, Avery," he shouted. "This girl's been playing you. You got yourself a spy."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "What, are you selling me out now?" He glanced back at her.

"Trust me," he hissed. "I'll explain it later." She swallowed hard. _Trust me_. The words buzzed like bees in her skull. He turned his attention back toward Avery. "I knew I recognized this bitch."

Avery and Brad stalked back toward them. "What do you mean?"

"Search her." Nora sighed as a man, she thought his name was Gary, grabbed her arm. Brad started patting her down, and being just a hair more touchy-feely than was comfortable. "Check everything. Check her pockets."

Grouping through her pockets clumsily, Brad pulled out the Eagle pen and unscrewed it. The mechanical insides popped out. "What is that?" Avery demanded. He took it from Brad. "What is this?" He fiddled with it, pressing the button. His own voice echoed back.

Nora kept calm as he stared at her. Finally, he laughed, a dark, humorless laugh. CWho are you?" She glanced between Peter and Avery. Peter raised an eyebrow. _Trust me. Back my play._

"Like he said, I'm a spy."


	6. Spy

Chapter Six

Spy

Peter hating having to 'out' Nora as a spy, but it was the only play they had. Madison was in danger, and things had become tricky. She still glared at him, still thinking he was the man with the ring. _I know you've got Kyle_. Her tone had been low, dangerous. She was serious. But Peter didn't have time to worry about that. Thankfully, she'd played along.

"Two years ago, this girl tried to extort me on insider trading," Peter lied. "You can't trust her."

"Oh," she scoffed, "I'm the one you can't trust? That's a good one." _If nothing else, she's a master of channeling her anger_.

Avery studied her. "Who are you? SEC? FBI?" She didn't answer, just glared at Peter.

"You really think the FBI could afford a gadget like that?" he scoffed. "No, she's a corporate spy." He looked at her pointedly. _Glare at me all you want,_ he thought, _but please just go with it._

"Who do you work for?" Avery demanded, stepping up toward her, getting in her face. She was just a hair shorter than him.

"Your partner," she lied, picking up what Peter hoped she would, "Daniel Reed."

"Reed?" he asked, incredulous.

She shrugged. "You think he doesn't know what you've been planning? He's been onto you for months."

Avery backed up, running over this in his mind. Nora caught Peter's eye. They had come to an understanding, if nothing else. Avery turned to some of the guys. "You take Madison home," he ordered. "Put her into her car, give her a bottle of wine. Tell her she's employee of the month." They ran off to do as he asked.

_That's one problem down_. "How do we keep this quiet?" Brad asked.

"We're gonna put her on that trap, and we're gonna launch her off the front lawn."

"You really gonna play the whole bad guy thing?" Peter asked, stifling a laugh. Avery rounded on him. "No, you buy her. Flip her on Reed."

He glared back at Nora. He pointed his shotgun toward her threateningly. His hands weren't near the trigger, though if things didn't go well, that could change easily. Nora didn't flinch. "What's Reed planning?" he demanded.

"He knows you're gonna cut him out of his half. He hired me to find out how so he can cut you out first."

Avery was silent for a moment. "How am I supposed to flip her if I can't even trust her?"

"Pay me in stock," she offered. _Clever girl_, Peter thought. "I help you, I get rich. I screw you, I get nothing." He turned away, considering it. "I want five percent."

Peter and Avery both looked at her like she'd gone insane. _Sometimes I could just strangle you, Nora_. Then Avery laughed. "You got a lot of nerve, sweetheart. I'll give you two percent."

"Three."

"Okay." He placed the disassembled pen back in her pocket and tapped her shoulder with the barrel of the shotgun. "Three."

* * *

Peter practically dragged her back to his house after they got away from Avery's place unscathed. Elizabeth poured her a cup of coffee while her husband disappeared upstairs. "Nora, are you out of your mind?" she scolded. "Peter doesn't have Kyle."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes, I am."

"How often is he gone, Elizabeth?" she countered. "How many late nights when you don't know where he is?"

"Okay, stop it," she snapped. "Peter is the best thing that ever happened to you. And you're smart enough to know that."

She sighed. "Yeah, well, he has the ring." She held up her photo of Kyle and the man with the ring as proof.

"That's your evidence?" Peter demanded, coming back into the room. He sat something on the table in front of her with a loud, metallic _thunk_. "Here's the ring." She picked it up, studying it. "It's a ten-year FBI pin. Put in ten years, you get one. Most of us have them made into a ring."

"I've never seen you wear it," she protested, realizing her argument was slowly loosing weight.

"It's a fraternity thing."

"Come with us to the next bureau commendation dinner," Elizabeth added. "You'll see hundreds of them."

"Will I get one?"

"No," Peter said flatly. They all shared a brief laugh. Nora suddenly felt very stupid for doubting Peter.

She sighed. "I'm sorry, Peter."

He held her gaze evenly. "I promise you, we'll figure out who it is."

"Whoever it is, is with the bureau," she reminded him.

He nodded. "Yup. That is a problem. But I need you to help me get Avery first. Go in and play Reed against him."

She smirked, just a little. "Make him think his partner's betraying him."

"Maybe he'll do something stupid," Peter mused, and Nora ignored the obvious jab at herself.

She stood to leave, pulling on her jacket. "Thank you, guys."

"It's alright," Peter assured her.

* * *

Elizabeth waited until the door had closed before she spoke. "You gonna tell her you met with Kyle?"

"I don't think she trusts me enough for me to tell her what happened that night," he admitted. She had backed down easily enough _this time_, but there was no saying how far she would spiral if something happened to cast doubt on him again. He picked up the ring, spinning it around slowly in his fingers. "After the case… then, I'll decide."

Elizabeth pursed her lips, but said nothing. She laid her hand over his. It was a tricky problem, one with no easy solution. He didn't want to risk making a small misstep and sending everything crashing and burning around them.

* * *

Avery called Nora to his and Reed's office, and they stood together in the hallway, watching Reed through a window as he chatted with his pretty young assistant. "Now what?" she asked.

"I want you to tell Reed that we're gonna dump the stock next Friday." He looked at her pointedly.

"When is the real dump?"

"This Friday. While we're celebrating, he'll get to watch his stock become completely worthless." Nora nodded, and Avery clapped her on the shoulder before retreating back down the hallway.

Nora's head was clearer since her conversation with Peter and Elizabeth. She'd been more relieved than she cared to admit to learn that Peter wasn't the man with the ring. She could fully focus on the case.

Nora strolled into the room. Reed and the woman were inexplicably talking about hot dogs. "Excuse me," she said, interrupting their very interesting conversation. "Could you give us a moment, please?" The woman raised her eyebrow and glanced up at Reed, who looked just as confused as she did.

"Yeah, go ahead," he decided.

"Thank you." Nora watched the woman leave.

"This better be good," Reed said dryly.

"It is," she assured him. "You know who I am?"

He stood. "Yeah, you're Avery's new _rainmaker_."

Nora cut to the chase. "You're partner's cutting you out."

"What?" he scoffed. "Get lost, doll."

Nora didn't get lost. She pulled a recorder out of her pocket and pressed play. Avery's voice greeted them. 'I want you to tell Reed that we're gonna dump the stock next Friday.' That certainly got Reed's attention.

'When is the real dump?' her own voice asked.

'This Friday.' Avery looked like he might explode. His eyes locked on Avery through the window, chatting with a group of people in another room. Avery looked back. 'While we're celebrating, he'll get to watch his stock become worthless.'

Reed pressed a button on a remote and the windows became opaque. _Fancy_. He couldn't seem to find the words for a moment. "Son of a bitch," he growled. "I'm gonna _kill_ him."

"You do something," Nora said calmly, "you lose your chance to win the upper hand."

Reed shifted for a moment, considering this. "Why are you telling me this?" he demanded.

Nora shrugged. "Figured it might be worth something to you."

He furrowed his brow, running over her with his eyes. "Why do I need _you_?"

"Because Avery trusts me," she said flatly, hopping up to sit on the table and crossing her legs. "I'm trying to make a profit. We can take him down. Make some money in the process.

He smirked. "And what do you need?"

"Access. I want his financial records, proof he's been running these rooms." He stared at her blankly. "We can hold that information over his head. Problem is, I couldn't find anything on his home or office computer."

"Heh. Avery doesn't trust computers. Says they're too easy to hack into." _Well, he's not wrong, is he_? "But he has a ledger."

Nora grinned.


	7. Celebration

Chapter Seven

Celebration

Back at the bureau, Lauren, Nora and Peter walked while she recapped her meeting with Reed. "There's no paper trail because he literally keeps it on paper," she explained. "Find this ledger, we got him."

"We need to figure out where he keeps it," Lauren added. Reed hadn't been sure.

"I know exactly where he keeps it," Peter assured them. He had Lauren pull up blueprints of Avery's house. They grabbed Jones and settled in the conference room to look over them.

Peter showed them the vault Avery had taken Peter to during the party. "This is gotta be where Avery holds the book, with his comics. It's a perfect location."

"Yeah," Lauren agreed, "according to the company who installed it, we're dealing with a state-of-the-art fire suppression system. It's the same kind they use in top museums." She played a demonstration on the diagram she'd pulled up on the computer. "When triggered, a poly-carbonate glass wall seals the room, and then a hydraulic vacuum sucks out the oxygen. The fire dies, no damage to what's inside."

She looked over to Nora. _You've got to be kidding me._ "And, if I'm in there, no air to breathe."

"Well, there's a kill switch." She hesitated. "But… we don't know where it is."

"Lovely."

"Yeah..."

Jones stepped in at this point. "Tech lab has another cool gadget for you. This mini breather." He held up a long tube with a mouth piece. "It'll give five minutes of air in case the system is triggered."

"It'll fit perfectly in one of these," Peter added, handing over a cigar case.

"Cigar tube," she mused. "Nice. FBI's been watching 'Thunderball.'" She popped the mini breather into the tube. "Breaking out all the toys on this one, guys."

"Anything happens, Jones and Lauren will be stationed with a unit _right_ outside the property," he assured her. He, of course, had picked up on her habit of covering concern with humor.

She turned the tube over in her hands. "Five minutes worth of air?" she asked. Jones confirmed. "What's your response time?"

Jones shifted in his seat, glancing up at Peter, who's jaw was set in a hard line. "Roughly… five minutes."

She glared at him. "Roughly?"

"I'll be at the house to back you up," Peter added, "in case anything goes wrong."

_Very reassuring._ "How you gonna pull that off?"

"They're dumping the shares on Friday," he reminded her. "So, everyone's having a little party to celebrate. We're _both_ on the invite list."

She leaned forward. "So just… just so I'm clear, um… if anything goes wrong, I suffocate."

No one could refute that. "Then we'll make sure nothing goes wrong," Peter said. They started clearing out.

"Yeah. Ha." She slumped back in her seat, holding her mini breather. Lauren offered a smirk before she left. "Or I can practice holding my breath."

* * *

Peter milled about with Avery at the party on Friday. He cast glances over at Nora, who stuck around Brad despite her utter disdain for the man. _We'll make sure nothing goes wrong_. Because that worked so often, right?

"You got the new Ferrari yet?" Avery asked, grabbing himself a drink off a tray carried by a caterer.

"I do," Peter lied. He didn't get a chance to talk about nice cars on the job often. "Twin turbo V8 with adjustable rear spoilers. Quite a piece of metal."

"Once this deal is done, you won't settle for the street model," Avery assured him. "You'll be able to get the designer's pre-release from Italy. Ever been to the factory in Maranello?"

"No," Peter admitted.

"They've got their own wind tunnel. It's unreal." They passed by Nora and Brad, and Peter cast a glance in her direction. The corner of her lip tugged up almost imperceptibly. _So far, so good_.

* * *

"So, what are you gonna do with your money?" Brad asked.

"Put it in a secure 401k and mutual funds," she explained. "It's all about security, bro." He crinkled up his nose. She laughed. "I'm just messing with you, man. I'm gonna buy a mansion with all the works. Travel the world. Just basically… live it up." He nodded, picturing it. "How about you?"

"I'm gonna buy an island," he mused.

"An island?"

"Yeah, then I'll learn how to play the guitar and just chill." A cute young man with a drink tray offered them drinks, and they took them.

"You don't need an island for that," she told him.

"Don't kill the dream, sweetheart." They clinked their glasses. "Maybe while you're traveling the world, you can visit me on my island." He grinned suggestively.

She grinned back. "Not on your life, pervert." The guy carrying the drink tray passed by, and Nora watched him go. "Now, _his_ island… definitely."

"Harsh." She moved the follow the caterer. "You're going to be back in time for the celebration, though, right?"

She pulled the cigar tube out of her purse. "Wouldn't want this to go to waste," she joked.

"Yes!" Brad agreed. Brad turned to talk to someone else, and Nora slipped away. She'd memorized the floor plan, and it wasn't hard to find the vault.

She took a moment to study her surroundings before she headed toward the box sitting suspiciously on a table in the middle of the floor. "No," she muttered. _It wouldn't really be so simple, would it_? She lifted the lid. Sure enough, a little black book sat neatly inside.

It was too easy. Without disturbing the book, she examined the box. Running out the back of it was a wire. "Trip wire," she mused. "Must be a pressure plate." _Now for the fun part._

* * *

Nora had disappeared. All that was left was for Peter to distract Avery while she got to work getting the ledger. "Ten more minutes before we're rich," Avery announced.

"We're already rich," Peter said dismissively.

"Billionaire rich, man." Peter nodded with a half-hearted hum. "_Buffett_ rich." He paused for a moment. "I think I might like to go to space. Catch a ride on one of those Russian rockets up to the space station."

Peter's phone started ringing. "You do that," he laughed. "Excuse me." He stepped away, taking the call. "Edison."

"Yeah, head's up." Jones said, "Reed just came through the front door." _That's bad_.

"Alright, hold your position," Peter ordered, "but be ready to move."

"You got it." Jones hung up.

Peter didn't even have the chance to put his phone away before Reed stormed in. "Avery!"

"Reed," Avery greeted lightly. "What's up?"

"You son of a bitch," Reed growled.

Avery stood, confused. "Why don't you ease back on the hostility?"

"What are you celebrating? Huh? We don't have anything to celebrate for another week."

"We're just relaxing," Avery lied. "I figured the boys could use a little reward for all their hard work."

"No," Reed spat, jabbing a finger at Avery. "I couldn't let this go. I know what you've been up to."

"Don't come into my house bringing all this chaos," Avery warned.

"Shut up. I've been talking to your little _spy _girl."

Avery's face scrunched up in confusion. "_My_ spy? My spy? _You _hired her. I'm just flipping her back on you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Now you're gonna play stupid?"

Reed scoffed. "You think she worked for me? I never hired a spy."

Things were going from bad to worse. They were realizing that they were both being played, and Nora was the one holding the pieces. _So much for making sure nothing goes wrong_.

"Where is she?" Peter heard Avery call. He needed to get to Nora. Fast.


	8. Oxygen

Chapter Eight

Oxygen

She was fiddling with the trip wire, trying to figure out how to disable it. "Nora!" Peter called. She spun around. Avery and Reed were hot on his heels, and Avery had a gun.

With only a few seconds to take in the scene, she made a quick decision. As Peter ran through the doorway, she lifted the ledger off the pressure plate. The glass wall clamped down. Avery took the shot, and it impacted against the glass. The clock was ticking. They had ten seconds of air.

"Alright, we need to find the kill switch," Peter said quickly. She pulled the mini breather out of her purse and offered it over to him. _Him being here wasn't part of the plan… _

"Take this."

"No," he refused. "No, we look together. We share the oxygen until Jones comes."

"There's not enough time!" she snapped. "Five minutes for one person, two and a half minutes for two."

"No, Nora. We're wasting time."

"Peter… I trust you." She pressed it into his palm. _You have someone waiting for you to come home. I don't_. With a sigh, he took it and headed for the other wall.

They started frantically searching for the switch. It didn't take long before the last of the air was gone. Nora held her breath. Peter popped the mini breather in.

She could feel Reed and Avery's eyes on them as they moved, but there wasn't time to worry about that. Soon, her lungs began screaming for air. She felt like her chest was going to pop.

Miraculously, she found the switch. She spun around, trying to get Peter's attention. He wasn't looking in her direction. "Peter!" she shouted, using a bit of her precious air. There was no sound. She flailed her arms desperately, but to no avail. She did the only logical thing.

She pulled off a heel and threw it at him.

It glanced off his shoulder and he whirled around. The world was growing dark around the edges, and her head swam. She struggled to stay upright, the room tilting this way and that. The floor came rushing up toward her. The last of the air in her lungs escaped and she gasped, trying to draw in more. There was no more to draw in, though. Her chest heaved for a moment. Slowly, the spasms stopped.

Her time had run out. The last thing she saw was Peter rushing toward her.

She was suffocating.

* * *

Peter hesitated before pressing the button. Nora was on the ground, unconscious. Avery stood on the other side of the glass wall, gun raised. If Peter pressed the button, he would shoot them. If Peter didn't press the button, Nora would suffocate.

He shook her a little, willing her to be okay. She didn't move. Peter drew his own gun. Better to risk a bullet… He spat out the mini breather.

And pressed the button.

The glass wall opened and air flooded in. Before either man could take a shot, Jones' voice rang down the hallway. "Now drop your weapon!" Reed's hands flew up immediately, but Avery didn't move. "Drop your weapon! Hands in the air!"

Now with guns pointed at him with the arrival of the cavalry, Avery complied, lowering the shot gun and raising his arms. Peter holstered his own gun and dropped to his knees beside Nora.

He hovered hand over her nose to see if she'd started breathing yet. She hadn't. "Alright," he sighed, running over his CPR training quickly in his mind. "Come on, Nora. Come on." He started to do a chest compression.

Before he could put much pressure she started breathing, drawing in a deep breath. Her eyes flashed open, and she gasped, taking in as much air as her lungs could hold.

"Atta girl," Peter breathed, relief coursing through him. She panted unevenly. "Breathe." Her breathing slowed to a more even pace.

"That was a long five minutes," she joked. Peter couldn't help but laugh a little. Here she was, lying on the floor after almost dying, and she was already making jokes.

"Yeah," he agreed. He helped her sit up slowly. "Take it easy. How do you feel?"

"My head is killing me," she admitted as he helped her lean against the wall. "But, I think I'll manage."

"Good."

* * *

After making sure Nora was okay, the two made their way outside. She was a little dizzy, but the feeling slowly passed. They sat down on the steps and she relished in the fresh, cool air. She rubbed her throbbing temples.

"What you did in there..." Peter said. She didn't give him the chance to continue.

"Ah," she groaned dismissively, "I knew you'd take care of it."

"You're crazier than I am," he teased. They shared a laugh. _But, of course, we already knew that. I jumped from a fourth story ledge onto an awning a few weeks ago, after all_.

"You got my back, right?" she asked suddenly. Peter nodded earnestly.

He drew in a deep breath. "There's something I need to tell you," he admitted. "And I need you to listen to everything before you react."

"I don't like the sound of that."

Peter stared out at the water. "I know what he wants from you." Nora's heart flip-flopped in her chest.

"Who?" she asked, fearing she already knew the answer.

"The guy in the picture with Kyle. You call him 'the man with the ring.'"

She stared at him for a moment, bewildered. "How could you know that?"

"Kyle told me." Her eyes grew wide. _When did you talk to Kyle_? "And now, I'm gonna tell you."

"You talked to Kyle?" She couldn't keep the hurt out of her voice.

"The night you confronted Fowler."

She nodded. "Yeah, he said he was investigating you."

"He is," Peter confirmed. He pulled something from his jacket pocket and handed it over. She unfolded it and stared for a moment, confused. It was a picture of Kyle… identical to the one from California. The one with the man with the ring.

She raised an eyebrow at Peter. "This picture," he explained, "was on my desk the same day you had it." _He's known since spring_?

"And you never said anything."

"What was I gonna tell you? I recognized the ring. They guy with Kyle is with the bureau." He sighed. "I started poking around, trying to figure out who it is."

"It's Fowler," she insisted.

"I think so."

A light bulb went off in her head. "Of course," she muttered. "Yeah, you start digging around, that's when he bugged your phone."

He nodded. "The phone, the OPR investigation, Operation: Mentor, all of it. He wanted to know what I was on to."

"And that was Kyle," Nora summarized.

"I passed a word to him, saying I wanted to meet, talk about you."

"What happened?"

Peter sighed before explaining. "He wasn't too happy to see me," Peter admitted. "He pulled a gun on me almost immediately."

She raised an eyebrow. "Kyle doesn't use guns."

Peter shrugged. "I guess that's what happens when you've been held against your will for months." He launched into his story, recapping everything that had happened in his meeting with Kyle. "He told me Fowler was after something you stole-"

"I stole a lot of things," she sighed. He ignored the confession.

"He said this one was special. It was a music box." Her eyes lit up in recognition. She listened to the rest of the story in silence. "And that's the long and short of it."

Nora took a moment to digest the information. "Fowler's controlling him," Nora protested.

Peter sighed. "I don't think so."

"He's not working for him, Peter." She blinked away the tears forming in her eyes before Peter could see them.

"Nora, when are you gonna face the facts here?" he snapped. "He may not be on your side."

"You're wrong," she insisted.

"Oh, damn it, Nora. Come on." He stood and started pacing. "I looked into his eyes. I didn't see concern for you."

She shook her head, like a stubborn child. "No. This is an angle."

"He wants this music box. Do you know where it is?"

"I might," she dodged.

"Come on," Peter huffed in exasperation. "You're gonna cut me off now?"

She rolled her eyes. "I know where it is."

"Good. So, _what _is it?"

_That's a long story_, she thought. She licked her lips, preparing to launch into an abridged history. "Catherine the Great had a room in her palace in St. Petersburg made entirely of amber," she explained. "You've heard of it?"

"Yeah, it was dubbed the eighth wonder of the world. The Nazis looted it in World War II."

Nora nodded. "Well, one of the things they took was an amber music box."

"It's gotta be worth a few bucks," Peter guessed.

"Yeah," she agreed with a heavy sigh, "but no enough for all this."

Peter grinned, the gears in his mind turning. "There's something inside it," he decided.

"It's holding some secret."

"I wanna see it."

_That might be a problem…_ She glanced up at him, not sure what to say. "I'm gonna need some time."

* * *

Mozzie came at Nora's call, once she was feeling better. "Well, it's ready," he announced as she let him in. He turned toward her expectantly. "Are you running?"

As an answer, she lifted up her pant leg. The anklet was back in place. "You folded," he sighed. "You're back in chains."

"Yeah," she admitted, "I have to see this on through."

He let it go surprisingly easily. "So, Fowler wants the music box," he recapped, "let's give it to him. Where is it?"

_If only I knew_. She shrugged. "I don't have it." The confession stung a little.

"What?" he demanded, dumbfounded. "You told everyone you had it."

"I never told anyone," she protested. "Everyone assumed I took it. And I… never corrected them..." _And I'm regretting it more and more every day_.

Mozzie crossed his arms, looking equal parts bewildered and amused. "It did make you appear superhuman."

She grinned, offering a light-hearted shrug. "Image is everything," she reminded him.

He chuckled. "Now what?"

"Now, I find the music box."

"And… steal it?" She smirked, picking up a knight from their chess board and examining it idly. "Welcome back."


	9. Mortgage Fraud

Chapter Nine

Mortgage Fraud

And so the search for the music box began. Nora started at the beginning, the last place she knew it was, and worked from there. She attempted to track its movements, but the task proved more daunting than it had originally seemed. It was going to take some time, even with Mozzie's help.

In the meantime, she continued with her work at the FBI. Peter didn't bring up the music box again, thankfully choosing to give her the time she'd asked for. She also spent time with Elizabeth, when she wasn't busy, going out to lunch or a gallery or shopping on their mutual days off.

The boiler room scheme was behind them, and fall was slowly creeping in. Nora met Peter in the elevator. "Good weekend?" she asked as they stepped out onto the twenty-first floor, noticing the pleasant expression he wore.

"Great. New York won four-three in overtime. How was the Guggenheim?" She was surprised he'd remembered her mentioning that.

"Excellent," she gushed. "Saw a rumination on the physicality of space and the nature of sculpture." She sighed contentedly.

Peter smirked. "Glad I missed it."

"Back at'cha."

Jones was waiting for them. "David Sullivan is waiting for you in the conference room," he said.

"Perfect," Peter groaned.

Nora raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong?" She glanced up toward the conference room, noting a man and a little girl sitting at the table.

"He's been calling all week about a mortgage fraud case," Peter explained. "It's a pretty cut-and-dry foreclosure. I don't know what else we can do."

"He brought his little girl," Jones added.

"Aw, jeez. He's playing the sympathy card."

Nora smirked a little. "Is it working?"

"Yup." Jones handed Peter a file. "Thanks." He turned pointedly to Nora. "Let's go talk to him."

"What, you need me for this?" she asked incredulously. A cut-and-dry mortgage fraud case hardly needed her expertise. He didn't say anything, and she quickly realized what was going on. "You're uncomfortable around the six-year-old."

"I don't know how to speak their language," he said flatly.

"I _do_?"

"You told me on our first case that you're great with kids," he reminded her. "Come on." She rolled her eyes, but followed him anyway.

"Mr. Sullivan," Peter greeted as they entered. "And this must be..."

"Allison," Mr. Sullivan offered, standing to greet them. The little girl looked up from her coloring and smiled sweetly.

"That's a five-one-five form," Peter realized, "not a coloring book."

"I'm sure the bureau will get by without it," Nora said pointedly. She offered a wink toward the little girl. "Encourage that artistic ability."

Peter let it go. "What's going on, Mr. Sullivan?"

Mr. Sullivan's expression was somber. "The bank forecloses on our home in a week," he explained, trying his hardest to keep calm, likely for his daughter's sake.

"Mr. Sullivan's father recently passed," Peter added. He was very familiar with the case already, it seemed.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Nora offered.

"He left him his home," Peter continued, "and before his death, he took out a second mortgage on it." That did indeed sound pretty cut-and-dry.

Mr. Sullivan, however, didn't seem to agree. "He didn't take out a second mortgage," he protested. "He would never do that. Someone cheated us."

"I looked at your case, Mr. Sullivan," Peter said firmly. "I'm sorry, but things like this happen."

"Was your father in debt?" Nora asked, trying to match Peter's firm tone, but coming off a touch more sympathetic than the agent had.

"He wasn't in debt. _I know him_."

"Do you?" Peter countered. Mr. Sullivan froze. "Last three years of his life, he was in an extended-care center." Peter slid the file Jones had given him toward Mr. Sullivan. "You only visited four times." Mr. Sullivan swallowed hard. "I told you, I looked at your case." Peter was nothing if not thorough.

"Look," he sighed, chewing over his words carefully, "my dad was a hard man. Near the end of his life, he wanted to get to know his granddaughter. She got us past our differences." The little girl still colored happily, not understanding the grim discussion the adults were having around her. "He wanted to give her a home to grow up in. That's how I know my father wouldn't take out a second mortgage to play blackjack, okay?"

He was very confidant, and Nora couldn't help but think there might have been something to it. She glanced over at Peter, trying to gauge his reaction to Mr. Sullivan's moving speech.

As if on cue, Allison handed the five-one-five form to Peter. It had a very lovely drawing of a man, a house, and a tree. Under the man, in rainbow letters, were the words 'Agent Burke.' "That's you," she explained. Nora suppressed a smirk. Peter would be powerless against the cute, sympathetic child.

Peter sighed, knowing that he had been beaten. He offered a tight smile to Allison, who smiled back at him happily. It faded once more as he glanced back toward Mr. Sullivan. "We'll look into it," he decided. "No promises."

* * *

Nora read over the case file in Peter's office as he saw Mr. Sullivan and Allison out. She sat on his desk, legs dangling idly a couple inches off the ground. "It's pretty cut-and-dry," she admitted as he walked back in. Without a word, he batted her lightly on the shoulder as he passed. She stood, rolling her eyes, and took a seat at the round table instead.

"The bank has paperwork signed and notarized," she continued as he took a seat at his desk. She snapped the file closed and tossed it down on the table. "I see why you didn't want to take this on."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Maybe I'm glad I changed my mind."

"Find something?"

"Tried to call the NYPD detective Sullivan spoke to originally," he explained.

"Yeah?"

"Turns out he's retired."

"So?"

Peter cocked his head to the side. "How many detectives you know retire at thirty-five?"

Nora considered this for a moment. It was highly unusual, to say the least. "It's worth looking into," she agreed. _Are we actually going to have an interesting mortgage fraud case_? There was a first time for everything. "Think we should ask him for coffee?"

"I never say no to coffee."

* * *

The former detective agreed to meet with them later that night. They settled on a small, quiet cafe and agreed to a time. Nora and Peter got there a little early, taking a seat and placing their orders while they waited. It wasn't really about the coffee, of course, but it was a nice perk.

The door opened at the agreed time, almost to the dot, and a thirty-five year old man with a buzz cut in a leather jacket walked in. "Mr. Herrera," Peter greeted as the man came closer, "thanks for coming. I'm Agent Burke."

He stopped at the table, but didn't sit, eyeing them both suspiciously. "Who's this?" he asked, nodding toward Nora.

"I'm with the FBI," she said vaguely.

Herrera sat down. "Um, no," he said flatly. "_He's_ with the FBI. A fed couldn't afford those earrings."

She shrugged lightly, somewhat impressed. Peter chuckled. "For a retired detective, you don't seem out of practice."

"You didn't answer my question."

"She's my consultant," Peter explained. That answer seemed sufficient, as he didn't say anything more about it. "We're investigating the Sullivan case."

Herrera nodded slowly. "Really? Why?"

"Mr. Sullivan has a daughter," Nora injected before Peter could answer, "and Peter's a sucker for kids."

Ignoring that, Peter continued. "You know, you cleared over ninety percent of your cases. If you don't mind me asking, what made you all of a sudden turn in your resignation?"

"Well, I- I got tired of the grind," he said with a forced smile. He glanced between the two of them for a moment. "Look, I, uh, I swung an early pension. I don't know if you're recording this conversation, but I don't have anything to say."

Odd thing for a retired detective out for a friendly cup of coffee to be paranoid about. Nora and Peter shared a glance. He was clearly thinking the same thing. Herrera stood. "I appreciate the coffee."

"Woah, woah, woah," Peter huffed, holding a hand up to slow the man down. "You burned your career for this case. You're just gonna walk away?"

"Like I said, I got nothing to say." He stared at Peter pointedly. "Sullivan's a dud. Let it go." _Fat chance_. "Thanks for the coffee."

He turned to leave, then hesitated. He turned back, pulling come money out of his pocket. "You know what? Let me leave a tip."

"Oh, I got it," Peter said lightly.

"I insist." His eyes had taken a very serious gleam. "It's the least I can do." He counted the tip very carefully before sitting a few singles and a handful of change on the table. It was way over the standard twenty percent tip would have been. They watched him leave without a word.

_A tip, huh_? "That was cryptic," she mused. She counted the tip quickly. "Four dollars and seventy-six cents.

"For three cups of coffee," Peter added, picking up the same thing she had.

"Pretty generous for a retired cop's salary."

"Very generous, and very specific." They had their tip. They just needed to figure out what it meant.

* * *

_A/N: so, I've been out of town the past few days, and just posting chapters I had written in advance. This was the last chapter I had written. Internet is spotty where I'm staying, so I'm not too sure I'll be able to get much written over the next couple days. I could be back home tomorrow, or some time later in the week. Just a head's up that there may or may not be a new chapter for a couple days. _

_-Selkie_


	10. Passing a Message

Chapter Ten

Passing a Message

They wasted no time pulling up every file NYPD had on the Sullivan case upon returning to the office, and started pouring over them at random for the cryptic tip Herrera left them. "Four-seven-six," Nora mused as she thumbed through a file that had been closest. "Could be an area code."

"Not in America," Peter corrected, and Nora wondered how on earth he would have known that.

"Badge number?" she offered.

"I don't think so."

Nora sighed. "For a dud case, Herrera generated a lot of paperwork." She tossed the file she'd been reading down on the desk and reached for another.

"Yeah, he did…. Wait, what have we got here?" She glanced up at Peter, his brow furrowed as he read over his own file. He smacked the paper pointedly. "Four seventy-six." He didn't look too happy having found the answer.

"What is it?"

"It's an ID number for a federal district judge." He offered her the paper to see for herself. "They stamp these on the files for every case you preside over."

"Judge Michelle Clark," Nora read.

"Do you know her?" he asked hopefully.

"No… Herrera said he was leaving a tip."

Peter shrugged. "Yeah, maybe Her Honor isn't so honorable."

Dealing with the average run of the mill criminal was one thing… going after some one with ties in the criminal justice system was a whole other ball game. "One cop already lost his job over this," she said softly. "You sure you wanna go down this road?"

Peter sighed, looking away. His eyes seemed to fix on the five-one-five form from Allison that he still had sitting on his desk. After a moment, he turned back to her, meeting her eyes evenly. There was a new resolve there, a drive to do what he knew he needed to do. "Yeah. I do."

She grinned. "Alright."

Nora shot Mozzie a text about the case while she and Peter continued going over the files for a while. Nothing was jumping out at them and they decided to call it a night. It was late by the time Nora got home.

"Hey," she greeted as she hurried into the apartment. The room was dimly lit, and Moz was spread out at the table with a ton of files of his own. "Find anything on Judge Clark?"

She took a seat as he passed some of the papers over toward her. "As your legal counsel, I advise you to peruse the following exhibits," he joked.

She started scanning over the documents. "Court orders. Search warrants." She glanced back up at him, brow furrowed. "This is everything Fowler used when he arrested me for the diamond heist."

Mozzie pointed to a spot on one of the papers. "Check out the fine-print. She was Fowler's go-to judge while he was investigating you." Sure enough, her signature showed up a lot.

"What's her name doing on search warrants?" she wondered. "Peter and I are working a mortgage fraud scam."

"Warrants which, if they'd been reviewed by an _impartial_ judge, may have been thrown out," he added.

"So Fowler's got a judge in his pocket," she summarized. Somehow, it always came back to Fowler, didn't it? She smirked a little. "That's handy. Peter's gonna love this."

Mozzie looked at her incredulously. "Have I taught you nothing?"

"Fowler's got Kyle," she reminded him stiffly. "If his pet judge is dirty, I can use it against him."

"Right," Mozzie scoffed. "You tell the suit, he files a report, and Fowler sees you coming." She could, of course, see his logic. "Secrets are safer." She stood, frustrated, and began pacing. "And when you say 'Fowler's got Kyle-'"

She glanced back at him. "He does," she insisted.

"What does the suit think?" She sighed and looked away, not wanting to voice Peter's suspicion of Kyle. But, of course, Mozzie was great at hearing the things she _didn't _say. He stood stood slowly and walked toward her, eyes a bit more gentle than they'd been before. "You're keeper and I actually agree on something. What if he's working _with_ Fowler?"

She didn't try to refute it; Mozzie wouldn't have listened. "I need to talk to him," she decided. "Then I'll know."

Mozzie nodded, realizing that was about as good as it was going to get. "Do you trust your FBI buddy?"

"Yeah, I trust him," she allowed. "'Til I can't."

"Vague," Mozzie mused, "in zen kind of way. Look, he met with Kyle. He must know how to get a hold of him. Do you trust him enough to deliver a message?"

That idea wasn't half bad. The problem would be deciding on the right message.

* * *

Peter sat a photo down in front of Nora the next morning. "Her Honor, Judge Clark," he explained. "How does this nice face get a detective to take an early pension?"

She regarded the picture for a moment. "She must have a lot of pull."

"Clark deals primarily in probate law," Peter continued. "Her last case was-"

"-The Sullivan house," Nora finished, grabbing another photo Peter handed over to her. This one was of a house.

"Look at these. Nine properties over the last two years, taken by various banks." He handed her more. His phone started ringing as she looked over them. "She presided over all of them," he finished as he dug it out of his pocket.

"Hey, hon," he greeted brightly.

"Hey! How would you like to come home for lunch?" she offered.

"I'd like that a lot." It had been a while since they got to spend lunch together, with their schedules always getting in the way.

"Good! I'm trying out a new caterer for an upcoming event," she admitted. "I would love your opinion on the food.

_Ah, there's the catch_, he thought, though it didn't bother him. Lunch was lunch, and Peter was used to being the guinea pig for her caterers and menu ideas. "Oh, what's the menu?"

"Well, uh, samplings of pate, couscous… a lot of fancy stuff."

"You know how much I love... stuff," he said lamely, still not entirely sure what the menu was going to be.

"And feel free to bring Nora," El added casually.

"Oh," he huffed, looking pointedly down at her, "that's why you're calling." She stared up at him innocently with her big, blue eyes. "You want to borrow her."

El chuckled. "I want to borrow her palate," she amended, "and yours as well."

"My wife's inviting you to lunch," he explained to Nora, who looked somewhat lost. "Good thing is, I get to come along too." Nora nodded once before turning back to the file she was reading.

* * *

Nora was quiet in the car. Peter was still kind of indignant about the lunch invite, and she didn't want to further sour his mood if she was going to ask him for a favor. Her hands fidgeted idly, and before she really thought about what she was doing, she started messing with all the fancy buttons on the dashboard.

"Stop playing with the buttons," Peter snapped.

"I wanna get the map thing," she protested, fingers still hovering over the buttons. In response, he rapped her sharply on the knuckles. She glared at him for a moment, but pulled her hand away from the dash.

She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, glancing over at Peter. Her eyes caught on the little indicator light on his mirror. "Blind spot," she noted.

Peter looked. "Got it." A taxi zoomed past.

Nora drew in a breath. _Now or never_. "I need to ask you about Kyle."

He turned his eyes off the road to regard her evenly. _Maybe I shouldn't have waited until we were in the car_, she mused. "I told you everything," he assured her.

"You didn't tell me how you contacted him," she countered.

"I'm a fed," he said simply. "If I wanna find someone, I do."

"Can you get a message to him?"

"I can try," he agreed. "What do you want to say?"

She'd spent a lot of time deciding on that. There were a million things she wanted to say, but if she wanted any hope of getting an answer, she needed to think of something short and sweet. "Tell him I'm starting to wonder if the bottle really did mean goodbye."

She turned to stare out the window, and could feel Peter's eyes on her. But he didn't say anything, and they finished the drive in silence.


	11. Pest Control

Chapter Eleven

Pest Control

They both put on a happy face when they came through Peter's front door. "Hey, honey," Peter called as he walked in, already pulling off his jacket. Nora followed, shutting the door behind her.

"Hey, Elizabeth," she greeted, seeing the woman at the table. "Thanks for the invite." She moved to look at the food set up at the table. "Huh, foie gras," she noted. Foie Gras was the liver of a goose or duck that was basically force fed corn with a feeding tube. It's cholesterol content was one of the highest of any food that exists.

"Yeah, I have a lot of it," Elizabeth explained excitedly as Peter came over to join them. "I want you guys to try this one first." She pointed to one of the dishes in the front.

"Looks great," Peter said, digging in.

"I haven't had time to try them, but they look good." Peter shoved one in his mouth. Nora wasn't as confidant, based on what she'd seen, and nibbled at one cautiously. It was terrible.

Peter was making a face like a child forced to eat his brussel sprouts. "Ugh," he groaned. When he saw Elizabeth's crestfallen face, he tried to back peddle. "Oh, yeah. Delicious."

No one was convinced.

"Okay, _that's _why I wanted to invite Nora," she huffed.

"Why, because she's good liar?" he argued, mouth still full.

"No, because she appreciates fine cuisine."

"Which this is not," Nora admitted. "No one could lie that well." Peter started wiping his tongue off with a napkin, trying to get the taste out of his mouth.

Disappointed, Elizabeth picked up one of the squares they had tried and gave it a sniff. Her nose crinkled. "Oh, yeah, that does smell bad. Thank God you guys tried it first." Nora and Peter shared a look, Peter still making faces as he tried to get rid of the aftertaste. "Okay, this caterer is off my list." She sat down and started writing in her notebook.

"Who was the other unfortunate guinea pig?" Peter asked.

"No one."

"Why are there two coffee cups on the table." Nora glanced down. He was right.

"Oh, I made coffee for the cable guy," she explained. "It went out this morning, so he came by to fix it." Nora's eyes narrowed.

"They got someone out here fast," Nora noted. Perhaps it was paranoia, but something about it make Nora suspicious.

Peter shot a look at Nora briefly, then back to Elizabeth. "When did you call them?"

"Actually, they called me." Nora's stomach sank. That was a huge red flag. "They accidentally cut a power line down the street." Peter again glanced over to Nora, brow furrowed, starting to have the same misgivings she was. "They were fixing the cable, so they sent someone. I thought it was a little strange too, but I actually asked the neighbors, and their cable went out as well." Peter picked up the phone. "Why? What's wrong?"

He didn't answer. Nora looked over his shoulder as he attempted to redial the number. It rang for a moment. "The number have dialed is not-" Peter clicked the end button.

He grabbed Elizabeth's pen and notebook and wrote only one word, great big in the middle of the page, underlining it for emphasis. 'Bug.' Nora nodded somberly. Elizabeth's eyes grew wide. Peter motioned for them to keep talking.

Nora, not missing a beat, sat down and started making small talk. "So, uh, where's the gala your new client's hosting?"

"It's… It's at the Met. It's next week." She was having trouble focusing, casting worried glances over her shoulder as Peter fiddled with the cable box.

"I love the Met," Nora mused. "They have this fantastic Matisse I've always admired. It's on the second floor, right near the fire exit." She sighed wistfully.

Peter found the bug, and the conversation died. Nora grabbed the notebook. 'What now?' she wrote.

"Now?" Peter huffed. "Now I am _pissed off_." He sat the bug on the floor and smashed it under his heel.

Worried there might be more bugs, they moved their conversation outside. "You suspected something the moment she mentioned the cable guy," Peter said. Sometimes she forgot just how perceptive he could be. "What aren't you telling me? Is it Fowler?"

"I don't wanna talk about it here," she dodged. The last thing they needed was for Fowler to know that she was on to his pet judge.

"And there could be more inside?" Elizabeth asked softly, voice edged with panic.

Peter sighed. "I'll take care of it."

"You can't go through the normal channels," Nora reminded him. "OPR has too much reach inside the bureau."

"What do you suggest?"

"I know a cleaning guy," she offered with a sly smile. "Does a great job on my place." If Peter was surprised by that revelation, he didn't show it.

"No way. Not _him_."

"Honey, we have to put a stop to this," Elizabeth insisted.

"Alright, fine," Peter relented. "Call your guy. But I want someone I can trust watching him, in case he... whatever he does."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed. "In case he… In case he what?"

"He's… odd," Peter explained.

"In a good way," Nora assured her.

That clearly didn't clear things up for Elizabeth. "Who is this guy?"

* * *

Half an hour later, after sending Nora out to walk Satchmo, El answered a knock on the door. The little guy stood on the other side, smiling like a kid in a candy shop. "Mrs. Suit, I take it," he greeted.

El was too baffled to respond. "Honey, this is..." Peter started.

"The cleaner," he supplied.

"What, are you selling vacuums?" El teased.

The little guy scoffed. "I do not take your assumption as an affront, but as vindication of my ability to blend in." Peter and El were speechless. The little guy seemed even stranger than the last time they met. He let himself in and started unpacking the case he'd brought with him.

"So, uh… what are you doing?" El asked.

"He's taking care of our bug problem," Peter explained as he watched the little guy rifle through the case. "Is that a night-vision spotting scope?"

"Oh, $50. Russian military surplus."

"Why do _you_ have it?"

The little guy glanced back at Peter. "Well, the real question is, why don't you?" He pulled up an antenna attached to a box-shaped device and wandered off, running the antenna over everything in his path.

Elizabeth took a moment to recover herself. "Well, in any case, we really appreciate your help."

There was another knock on the door. Peter opened it. "Hey, Jones," he greeted.

"Hey."

"Thanks for coming."

"Yeah."

"Alright, listen," Peter muttered, clapping Jones on the shoulder. "That's him. Make sure Elizabeth is safe."

"You got it."

The back door opened, and Nora came in with a happy Satchmo. "Hey, Moz," she greeted brightly. As a greeting, he ran the antenna over Nora, and she looked at him oddly.

"Clean," he announced.

"Thanks, Nora, for walking Satch." Elizabeth said as she took Satch's leash from Nora, still trying to keep a tight lid on her nerves.

"Yeah, any time."

"So, um… You sure he won't try anything?" El asked. They watched as Moz dipped a finger in the gross food and tasted it.

"Do you have any rare paintings or coins?" Nora countered.

"No."

"Then you'll be okay."

"Is this Gorham silverware?" Mozzie called from the kitchen. "It's rather unique." Nora looked toward the kitchen in disdain.

"Maybe you should keep an eye on him," she allowed.

"Yeah."

"Ooh, a Baccarat vase," Mozzie mused. At a glance from Peter, Jones went to shadow Mozzie, making sure he didn't get up to any mischief.

"Well, I don't know what case you guys are working on," Elizabeth said tightly, "but wrap it up fast, okay?" She handed Peter his jacket. "Come on, Satch."

"See you, buddy," Nora cooed after the dog.

"Think they'll be okay here?" Peter asked.

"Okay," they heard Elizabeth sigh from the kitchen, "I don't think he bugged the dog."

"Amateur," Mozzie scoffed.

Nora was still making that odd face, like even she was put off by how eccentric her little buddy was acting. "I don't want to stick around to find out," she decided.

Peter smirked. "Me either." His expression grew more serious. "Besides," he continued, voice low, "you have some explaining to do."


	12. Signatures

Chapter Twelve

Signatures

They opted to have their discussion as they walked, deeming the car and the office too much of a risk. It was raining lightly, and they each carried a black umbrella. Nora went over what she knew quickly and concisely, and Peter held his tongue until she finished. "So Fowler was trying to protect his pocket judge for Operation Mentor," he summarized. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was getting to it," she dodged.

"He knows I pulled our detective's file," Peter continued.

"He realizes your on his trail, and he comes after you."

"Us," Peter amended. "He comes after us."

_Oh, so we're an _us_ now, are we_? "Maybe we can get to him first through Judge Clark," she suggested.

Peter thought about it for a moment. "This thing Fowler wants from you, the music box, better play one catchy tune," he huffed, giving her a pointed look. She couldn't blame him. He'd been sucked into a mess that shouldn't have been his problem to begin with, and look where they were now. They couldn't even talk in the privacy of his own home because now his home had no privacy.

"It's worth it," she sighed.

"Why are people like you always interested in antiques with a dangerous history?"

She smirked. "Because they have a lasting impact. Look at how they're affecting us right now." Though, if she'd known back then how much trouble the music box was going to cause, she might have thought twice about trying to steal it in the first place… _Admit it, you would have gone for it anyway._

"Unbelievable," he scoffed. "We're about to go after a federal judge."

Nora stopped and turned to face him. "It's _worth it_ to take down Fowler," she insisted.

He sighed, thinking it over for a moment. He had to realize she was right. "Okay. We stop the judge from taking the Sullivan home, then we get her disrobed." Nora snickered, childish though it was. Peter rolled his eyes.

"You know what I meant. We lean on her hard enough, she'll flip on Fowler." Nora continued to giggle, covering her mouth with a hand. "You know what I meant!" Still smirking, she started walking again. "That's not what I meant," he huffed, following her.

Peter changed the topic as they walked. "So, I have to ask, how did a girl like you get mixed up with a guy like… _him_?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Who, Mozzie?"

"Yeah."

She thought about it for a moment. "That's a long story," she decided. Peter snorted. "He's not usually so..."

"Crazy?" Peter supplied.

"I might have used a nicer word, but yeah. Really, he's not so bad once you get to know him." Peter didn't look convinced.

He shook his head. "I dunno," he muttered. "Looking at you, then looking at him…"

"A few years ago, I probably would have agreed," she allowed, understanding what he couldn't quite put into words. "But, he kind of grows on you."

"I'll believe that when I see it."

* * *

They were greeted by another agent when they got back to the office. "I got those files you requested on Judge Clark," he told Peter softly. Peter glanced up. Several boxes were being delivered to the conference room.

"Good job, Price," Peter said. "Get the crew together. We are gonna pour over everything, discover any discrepancies on every deed and foreclosure notice we've got, starting with the Sullivan home."

"Okay," Price agreed, heading off to get the team.

Nora's eyes were fixed behind him, and they had turned icy cold. "What is it?" She nodded toward the elevator.

Peter turned slowly. Fowler was walking through the glass doors. "Good to see you again, Agent Burke," he sneered.

"What are you doing here?" Peter demanded, not trying to hide the contempt in his voice.

Fowler smirked. "I'm working on a project in New York," he explained, coming to a stop in front of them.

"Operation Mentor?"

"I can't comment on that. In fact, I would say you're not supposed to know it even exists."

"You can pin this on one me," Nora offered. "You like pinning things on me, right?" Fowler glared at her, but was spared having to say anything by a voice from upstairs.

"Agent Fowler," Hughes called. They all spun to look up at the man leaning on the railing. "Received your request this morning. We'll set you up in one of our offices."

Fowler turned to head up the stairs. "You're working out of here?" Peter asked.

"Oh, relax, Burke," Fowler taunted, "Just borrowing your phones for a little while." _He may as well have just confessed_. Nora and Peter watched him and his lackey head up the stairs. Nora's jaw was set in a hard line.

They didn't have time to worry about Fowler, however. They still had work to do, whether he was looming over their shoulders or not. The team assembled and they started going over the judge's files with a fine-tooth comb. Even Nora, who tended to whine about boring work like that sat quietly and focused on the stack of files in front of her. She was still on edge about Fowler's unexpected arrival.

They read until Peter's eyes started to blur from the strain. "Alright, everyone," he sighed, figuring they must have been as tired as he was, "take five. We'll reconvene later." They didn't need to be told twice, standing and heading out of the room to stretch their legs, get coffee, or what have you.

Peter started for his office, expected his CI to follow, as she always did.

Nora didn't budge. Her eyes were still fixed on the file she'd been reading, worrying her lip the way she did whenever she was thinking hard. "You got something?" he asked, drawing her attention.

"Maybe." Peter headed back toward her. "Sullivan's father, Michael, signed the original mortgage in November of 1962." She handed the paper to Peter. He looked it over. She handed him a second paper. "This is his signature on the second mortgage he supposedly took out."

"Supposedly?"

"Yeah." She pointed at the more recent signature. "There's a mild hesitation mark in the loop of the L." Peter compared them, not quite sure he was seeing what she was seeing. "It's a forgery."

"You're sure?"

She nodded. "Forging a signature is all about confidence," she explained. _You would know, wouldn't you_? "Here..." she grabbed a notebook and pen off the table. "Sign this."

Peter always loved seeing her demonstrations and obliged. When he was finished, she took the pen and started writing. A second later, there were two perfect 'Peter Burke' signatures on the paper. It was unbelievable. She'd barely looked at his for a second before recreating it exactly.

He couldn't help but stare at her in amazement. "How'd you do that?"

"Well, your hand is programmed over years to write letters a certain way. You try to mimic someone else's and your own style with always creep in. But, if you turn the signature upside down, it becomes nothing more than a drawing. All you have to do is copy the lines. Your preconceptions about letters go away and you have a perfect signature."

"That's a neat trick," he allowed. "Don't ever copy mine again."

"Never again," she agreed quickly.

"You have copied my signature?" he asked, incredulous.

"Let's focus on the crime at hand." Peter let it go.

An unwelcome voice called from the doorway. "Hey, guys," Fowler greeted. "What are you doing?"

"You need something, Fowler?" Peter asked flatly. He didn't answer, just scowled at them and walked away. Once he was out of earshot, Peter returned to the case. "I'm gonna get clearance from the bureau to talk to our judge."

"You need clearance?"

Peter stood. "To talk to a federal judge? Yeah. And you're gonna stay here. Last time you were in a judge's chamber, you jumped out the window." Nora rolled her eyes, holding up her hands in an exaggerated surrender, as if to say, '_excuse_ me.' Peter smirked a little to himself as he retreated to his office. He was never going to let her live that down.


	13. Judge Clark

Chapter Thirteen

Judge Clark

Everything was all set up. It was getting on into the evening when Peter showed up for his meeting with Judge Clark. A blond secretary in modest business attire showed him to her chamber. "Agent Peter Burke is here to see you," the secretary announced.

Judge Clark stood to greet Peter as the secretary closed the door behind him. "Judge Clark," Peter said, shaking her hand. "Thank you for taking the time to see me."

"Please have a seat," she offered. "How can I help you?"

"I'm here investigating a foreclosure dispute filed by a Mr. David Sullivan," he explained, settling into the chair. "You were the judge overseeing Sullivan's estate."

"I'm sorry, I don't seem to recall that case." _Of course not_.

"Maybe these will refresh your memory," he said, handing her some of the documents from the file.

She glanced over them and smiled tightly. "I thought this case was settled."

"It was. By you. But we found some discrepancies in the signatures."

Her brow furrowed. "Discrepancies?"

"Forgeries," Peter clarified. "Enough for me to reopen the case."

She smiled sweetly. "Good luck, Agent Burke. Handwriting analysis won't have enough weight to restart the investigation." She handed the papers back. "You got more than this?"

"I've got you," he said. She froze, dropping her pleasant smile. "Nine suspicious foreclosures, and you're the common denominator."

She was quite for a long moment, regarding him coldly. "What sort of salary does an FBI agent make?" she asked suddenly, throwing Peter off. He hadn't expected that.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm curious," she said innocently. "An agent of your stature, a hundred and forty a year, at most?"

"Why do you ask?" _Are you seriously trying to bribe me_?

"It's a shame you don't make enough for the services you provide, for what you do, the risks you take. I think you deserve double that." _Maybe I can use this_, he mused, _more proof that she's dirty_.

"What are you proposing?"

"Nothing," she protested. "I'm simply suggesting that you should make a lot more money for the work that you're doing… Or, _not_ doing, for that matter. I think you deserve a bonus, Agent Burke."

"What kind of bonus are we talking?"

"Quarter of a million," she said flatly, cutting right to the chase. She smiled. "Does that interest you?"

"It might," he lied.

"Perhaps we should continue this conversation next week somewhere less official."

"Perhaps we can."

She stood, and Peter followed suit. "Good luck on your case," she offered, shaking his hand once more. "I hope you don't run into a wall."

"We'll be in touch."

"Okay." He let himself out.

* * *

Nora waited impatiently for Peter to return. She hated being left out, and she could feel Fowler's eyes on her as she pretended to be working at her desk. Her skin crawled under his leering gaze.

Finally, Peter stepped through the doors. "Hey," she greeted, standing quickly to walk with him. "Miss anything good?"

"She offered me a bribe," he explained. That hadn't been the answer she was expecting.

"Really? How much are you worth?"

"Quarter million."

"That's it?" she huffed. Surely Peter was worth more than that. One only had to look at the conviction rate of his cases to see that he was a top-notch agent.

"Yeah."

She scowled. "If I'd known you were that cheap, I would have bribed you myself."

He smirked. "No amount of money would have been as satisfying as catching you the first time. Or the second."

"No one likes a bragger," she chided. "So we got ourselves a dirty judge."

"I think we do. I'll put in a request with Hughes to authorize a sting." He glanced up toward the offices. Fowler sat at a desk. His phone rang, and he answered it. He seemed pleased by whatever the person on the other end was saying. For a moment. Then his expression soured, and he looked like he was struggling to keep his cool.

Peter and Nora tried to look nonchalant as they watched, pretending to look over a case file. But they met his eyes. He sneered down at them, like a lion closing in on it's pray. Nora felt a lump form in her throat. He had something in play, she was sure. But only time would show what that was.

* * *

"He's a bit of a bad boy," Peter heard Elizabeth joke as he neared the top of the stairs. El, Jones, and the little guy were standing in the hall, talking about something he hadn't caught the beginning of.

Peter cleared his throat, and the chatting died. "What's going on here?" he asked.

"Oh, we were just wrapping up for the night," the little guy said quickly, setting something back inside a box from the hall closet.

"'We,' huh? What, are you a team now?" The little guy glanced back and forth between Peter and a smirking Elizabeth, unsure how to answer. "Will you be finishing up soon?"

"Oh, I'll need a few more days. The downstairs is clear, but the upstairs is still a potential minefield."

Peter frowned. "So you're telling us that we shouldn't sleep in our own bedroom?"

"Do either of you talk in your sleep?"

"No," he said.

"He does," Elizabeth said at the exact same time. He looked at her, confused, but she offered just a matter-of-fact shrug.

Peter dropped it. The little guy started for the stairs. "Jones, drive him home," Peter instructed.

The little guy turned on his heels, eyeing Peter suspiciously. "Oh, nice try, Suit. Nice try. Haversham out."

"Don't forget the pate!" El called after him.

"Already packed," he returned.

Unsure what to make of the situation, Peter turned to Jones. "He do anything suspicious?"

"More amusing than anything else."

That was reassuring, at least. "Thanks, Jones. Get some rest."

"Yeah," he agreed, patting Peter on the shoulder as he too headed for the stairs.

"Night," El said as he retreated.

"Good night." She sighed, smiling sleepily up at Peter. "So, where are we gonna sleep tonight."

He didn't really have an answer. His eyes fell on the things that had been pulled out of the closet and were heaped against the wall. Among them were the two sleeping bags they'd had forever but never had a chance to use. He grinned.

They got the sleeping bags settled on the living room floor and laid down to relax. "Who says you can't camp in New York City?" El joked.

Peter sighed. She'd had a long day, and the stress of their home being invaded and spied on was clearly taking its toll on her nerves. "I owe you for this, El."

"Well, you can start with dinner."

"Saturday night," he offered. "Italian?"

"It's a date." He moved to give her a kiss, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. She smirked a little bit.

"Ugh," he groaned, pushing himself up. "It's like Grand Central in here." _I swear, if it's Nora…_

It was not Nora. Instead, Hughes stood, casting a wary glance over his shoulder as Peter pulled the door open. He didn't look like he was there for a pleasant conversation.

"Hughes. Come on in."

"Hello, Peter." He spotted El, still sitting on her sleeping back. "Evening, Elizabeth."

"Hello, Reese," she greeted with a smile and a small wave.

"What, are you camping?" the older man asked, putting off whatever unpleasant thing he was there for.

"Long story," Peter sighed. The man looked grim. "What's wrong?"

He was silent for a moment. "I need to speak to Peter," he told El.

"Of course," she agreed, standing quickly.

"Thanks, hon." She rushed off toward the kitchen to give them some privacy. Peter turned back to Hughes.

Hughes took a deep breath, not meeting Peter's eyes. "I'm not here in an official capacity," he began. "I'm here as your friend. OPR has launched an investigation into you." Peter's stomach lurched.

"Why?"

"Did you take a bribe from a judge?"

Peter huffed. He should have known. It was a trap. "I spoke with Judge Clark."

"Did she offer you money?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"Did you say no?"

Peter cursed himself silently, shaking his head. "I went to her office, told her about our investigation, and she responded with a bribe. I wanted to play it out, see where it led. You'd have done the same thing."

"Maybe," Hughes allowed. He was quiet for a moment. "OPR's got you on videotape. Fowler's presenting it tomorrow morning." The words came out as if Hughes were nailing them into Peter's coffin. Fowler was going to bury him. "I can't protect you, Peter."

Peter couldn't speak. Hughes didn't seem to be able to either. He shared one last somber look with Peter and showed himself to the door. Peter stood rooted to the spot, numb.

"This is serious, isn't it?" El said softly from across the room. She had overheard – or listened in.

There was no use sugarcoating it. "Yeah. Hughes could lose his job for what he just told me."

She crossed her arms, face furrowed with concern. "This guy, uh, Fowler, he's not gonna stop?"

"No." He swallowed hard. "I'll fix it."

"How?"

"He's got me on tape. Honey, I..." He grabbed his coat. "I've gotta go."

"Don't apologize." She gave him a quick peck on the lips and he headed for the door.

* * *

El waited until Peter's car turned the corner and was out of sight before she grabbed her own keys. It wasn't that she thought Peter couldn't handle the situation on his own… If that Fowler guy wasn't going to play fair, than neither should they. It wasn't Peter's fault this was happening to them.

She drove on auto-pilot, mind churning in circles about everything that had happened over the past few days. Before she realized it, she had come to a stop at the familiar beautiful house Nora's apartment was in.


	14. A Long Night

Chapter Fourteen

A Long Night

Having done as much as they could on the Sullivan case for the time being, Nora and Mozzie turned their efforts to tracking down the music box. The table was covered with documents printed out with practically every mention of the music box they'd been able to find dating back to her failed attempt of getting it the first time.

"The last clue I had led to Seville, and then nothing," she explained. She may as well have been banging her head against a brick was for as useful as their search had been. She would have gotten similar results; nothing but a headache.

Mozzie opted to change the subject. "Has your federale contacted Kyle?"

"No, nothing yet."

Moz rummaged through the papers, pulling a postcard out that he hadn't seen before. On the opposite side, where normally there would be some picture relevant to the place the sender got it from, there was just a handwritten note. 'D5' is all it said. "Or maybe we have something," he mused, handing it over.

"No name," she noted. "Return address is a PO box."

"It's a chess move," Mozzie added. "Could it be from Kyle?"

"He doesn't like chess," she reminded him. Why would someone go to the trouble of sending a chess move on a postcard? What did it mean? She stood and headed over toward the table next to the door where she had a mini chess board. She played the move from the card. "Interesting. They opened with black."

"Unusual. Symbolically making you virtuous white." _Because that's so fitting for me, right_? "Who do you think it is?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

They were surprised to hear a knock on the door. Nora hadn't been expecting any more guests, and if Peter had found something, he probably would have called her to the office rather than making the trip to her apartment so late.

She motioned for Mozzie to clean up the music box researched. He quickly tidied up the papers and tucked them away. Out of all the people she guess might have been on the other side of the door, Elizabeth Burke hadn't been very high on the list.

Yet there she was. "Elizabeth."

She looked worried. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were misty. "Um… It- It's Peter." She shifted nervously. "Um, he needs your help."

* * *

Peter sat alone in his office, pouring over the case with tired eyes, kept awake only by the copious amounts of coffee he'd already consumed. The clock was ticking like a death knell, each second bringing him closer to losing everything if he couldn't find _something_ on Fowler and Clark. He'd thought about calling Nora, knowing she would be there if he asked, but something stopped him. In a way, the whole thing was sort of her fault, but also _not_ her fault. But Peter's conversation with Judge Clark had been all him, and he knew she would blame herself if she found out about the tape.

Like all good things, the coffee ran out. With a sigh, he stood and made his way down to bullpen with heavy feet. It was almost eerie seeing the bullpen so deserted. He felt entirely alone.

And, of course, there was no more coffee in the coffee pot either. Why would anything go his way? The pot was stained and dirty and he dragged his feet, procrastinating cleaning it and getting another pot started. Coffee never quite tasted right when he made it. Nora and Lauren often rolled their eyes over-dramatically and complained about him being helpless as they just did it themselves. But they weren't there…

There was a _ding_ from the elevator. Peter came around the counter and saw Jones walking in casually, as if coming in so late at night was perfectly reasonable. "What are you doing here?" Peter asked.

"Catching up on some work," he said nonchalantly.

"You heard about the OPR investigation," Peter guessed.

"Yeah, well, it might have gotten around. Look, with all that's going on, I figured you could use some extra hands."

Peter smiled. "Thanks, Jones." It was nice knowing someone was on his side in all of this. Peter fidgeted with the coffee pot still in his hands. "Just gonna make a fresh pot."

Jones smiled knowingly. "Let me help you out."

"Thanks."

"We might want to put on more than one," Jones added as he started pulling out packages of coffee grounds from a drawer. The elevator _ding_ed again. It seemed like half the agents in the division were flooding out, coming to Peter's aid. They smiled reassuringly at him as they passed and headed up to the conference room to get to work. Peter swallowed down the lump in his throat and glanced back at Jones, unable to find his voice. Jones simply nodded that he understood what Peter was trying to say.

* * *

Nora invited Elizabeth in and she took a seat on the couch. Elizabeth wasted no time explaining what had happened; Hughes' visit, the OPR investigation, the videotape Fowler claimed to have on Peter. Nora and Mozzie listened silently, a knot forming in Nora's stomach. _This is my fault, isn't it_?

"This judge has the tape of Peter," Elizabeth concluded. "So, I think the only was to stop them from getting Peter in trouble is to get rid of the tape, right?"

Nora stared at her, incredulous. "You want us to break into a judge's office and steal a videotape?"

"Yes," Elizabeth said, as if it was perfectly reasonable and logical. "Do you have better idea?"

Nora and Mozzie shared a look. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to break into federal property?" Mozzie asked gently, taking a seat in the chair across from Elizabeth. "A judge's chambers, no less?"

"You broke _out_ of one," Elizabeth reminded Nora. Nora shrugged, not bothering to point out that breaking _into_ something was a lot different than breaking _out_ of something. She doubted Elizabeth would see much distinction between the two. "And if you don't do this, Peter could go to prison."

"Yeah," she allowed, "and if I _do_, I could go back."

Elizabeth swallowed, but there was still resolve in her eyes. "You owe him." _God damn it…_ Mozzie glanced up at her, and she drew in a deep breath. "Alright, why don't you get some rest, and we'll handle it."

Elizabeth stood, smiling faintly. Mozzie looked pale. "Handle. Right. Like a doorknob." Nora gave him a withering look.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said softly. "Thank you both."

Nora walked Elizabeth to the door, patting her arm reassuringly. "Get home safe." She smiled kindly after Elizabeth and shut the door behind her. As soon as the door clicked shut, her smile dropped and she turned back toward Mozzie, shoulder slumped. "Do you have any idea how we're gonna do this?"

He thought for a moment, a small smile spreading across his lips. "Give me two hours."

* * *

Mozzie got his two hours and set up at the kitchen table. He had pulled out a board game and a bunch of miscellaneous figurines and spread them out. He called Nora over to explain his plan.

"Okay, Fowler is sending his private courier to pick up the tape at eight AM." He held up a toy covered wagon, standing in a the courier on his board game model of the job. He moved it over to a box that was meant to be the federal building the judge's chamber was in.

"You got the approach?" she asked

"Don't I always?" he snapped, offended she even had to ask. "The courier truck will pull up to the front entrance and check in. When the driver steps out of the truck, I will stall him." He moved two plastic figures over to the truck, one being the driver and the other being him. "This one's me." He held up one that was a little baseball player.

"I figured. How are you gonna stall him?"

"With my obvious charm, of course."

She smirked. "Do we have a backup?" she teased.

"Ha," he deadpanned. "I scouted the building. There's a security camera blind spot over here." He placed third plastic figure behind the covered wagon. "While I stall-"

"I come out of the blind spot dressed as the same courier," she concluded, moving her figure in front of the box.

"Exactly."

"Alright," she agreed. It was as good a plan as any. "Any luck getting your hands on a uniform?"

"It's oddly difficult to find a tailor in the dead of night, but I did the best I could." He pulled a bundle off the chair next to him and handed it over. It was a pair of khaki pants and a green jacket.

"Is this a park ranger uniform?" she asked flatly.

"Maybe." He slid something across the table to her. It was a logo for OMS: Optimum Messenger Service.

"With an iron-on," she muttered. It was getting better and better by the second.

"I couldn't find a thimble." She studied the iron-on. "Oh! And don't forget this." He pulled another bundle off the chair.

"And a BB gun," she said dryly.

"Would you prefer a real one?"

"No."

"Okay. Now, you go into the office as the courier and pick up the tape. Then you use this." He picked up a pumpkin-shaped magnet.

"What's the refrigerator magnet supposed to be?"

A refrigerator magnet." She glared at him. He flipped it over. "But it's actually a high-grade neodymium magnet."

Nora grinned. "Which will erase the tape."

"Yes, thoroughly. Then, you change clothes and hand over the newly blanked tape to the actual courier."

"No one knows I was there." The plan was actually pretty brilliant for something cobbled together in two hours out of desperation.

"And everybody stays out of jail," Mozzie added.

She ran it over in her mind. "You think this will work?"

"I think if anyone can make it work, we can."

* * *

"All nine of Judge Clark's suspicious foreclosures have the same criteria," Peter explained, pacing around the table as his sleepy agents worked. "The target is a recently deceased elderly person who's lost contact with the family, primarily middle class."

"What about the banks and loan officers?" Jones asked.

"Different in every case. Judge is the only constant. These cases originally came to her court as standard estate litigation. She's been in a perfect position to scout out the weaker families. Since the families are estranged, they have to assume that the additional mortgages are legit. Even if they didn't, they wouldn't have enough money to fight the banks in court."

"So, either the family pays up, or they lose everything," Jones summarized.

"The average price tag of a bogus loan is $350,000."

"So where does the money go?" he asked

"That's the question. David Sullivan's foreclosure is still in progress. So, let's follow the money."

"Hey, we're down!" one of the agents remarked, eyeing his computer in confusion. "What happened?" One by one, the screens blanked out.

"What?" Peter asked. "What?"

"Someone just sealed the judge's files," Jones said, jaw set in a hard line. They stared up at Peter. "What now?"

Peter considered this for a moment. "We go back to the source."


	15. Fun With Magnets

Chapter Fifteen  
Fun With Magnets

Peter was waiting for Herrera outside his apartment building with coffee bright and early the next morning. "Officer Herrera," he greeted.

"What do you want, Burke?"

"I got close to Clark, and I'm about to lose my job," he explained as they walked. "You tried to warn me."

"I didn't do anything," Herrera said dismissively.

Peter stopped. "If I'm going down, Clark's coming with me."

Herrera turned to face Peter with a sigh. "Look, whoever's giving this judge cover, they won't stop at you. You understand that, right? They're gonna go after your friends, your family."

"That's why it's gotta stop. I need the evidence that proves she's dirty. I need to find the money that she got from the Sullivan loan."

Herrera hesitated, casting nervous glances over his shoulders. "I got shut down when I… when I requested a search warrant for the judge's chambers. Start there."

"It'd be nearly impossible to get into," Peter noted, "but a great place to hide it. I owe you one." He offered one of the cups of coffee to Herrera. He took it with a nod. "Thanks."

* * *

It was showtime. Nora was in her ridiculous park ranger uniform, complete with the iron-on and BB gun, waiting for her cue. She watched the OMS truck pull to a stop outside the building. The driver got out and headed toward the back, into the camera's blind spot. As he got what he needed from the back, Mozzie made his entrance, making a scene about a package being mistakenly delivered to his mother and ruining his life.

With a wink to Mozzie, Nora rounded the truck and headed up the stairs. She made her way inside, acting like she was meant to be there. No one looked at her twice. She came up to a pretty blonde secretary at her desk. "Hey, I'm here to pick up a package from, um..." she glanced at her clipboard. "Judge Clark."

"Yes," the assistant agreed. "Just a sec." She waited while the secretary went to get the package, keeping an eye on the clock. She tapped her pen impatiently on the clipboard, hoping Mozzie's 'obvious charm' was going to be able to buy her enough time.

The secretary returned a few moments later. "This is to be handed to Agent Fowler personally," she instructed Nora.

"Understood," she agreed, trading the secretary the clipboard for the package. The secretary signed quickly.

"No one but him can sign for it, clear?" the secretary added pointedly. Nora nodded and took the clipboard back, studying the signature for just a moment.

"I'll take care if it," Nora assured her before heading off the way she came. Once out in the hall, Nora casually started rubbing the package with the magnet. She slipped inside an empty room to pull off the park ranger uniform, her usual business attire underneath. Making sure no one was looking, she stuffed the uniform into a trashcan in the hall and straightened her blazer.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the courier rushing up the stairs. "Hey," she called sharply, arms up in exasperation. "About time you got here. Almost had to deliver this thing myself." She pressed it into his chest. "Make sure Agent Fowler receives this personally." The courier – Ray – looked harried, defeated. Mozzie's distraction had gotten under his skin.

"I will," he assured her. "Just sign right here, please."

"Give me that," she snapped, snatching the clipboard from him. She forged the secretary's signature.

"I'm sorry for the delay," Ray sighed. She didn't respond, just passed the clipboard back to him and sent him on his way, watching him as he retreated down the stairs. She could see Mozzie outside the window. He turned toward her casually, motioning toward the door. Judge Clark was walking in.

Nora ducked behind a pillar as the judge made her way upstairs and waited for the sound of heels clacking on the tile to fade. As the judge passed, Nora's phone buzzed.

It was Peter. _You're sense of timing is impeccable as always. _She answered quietly. "Peter."

"I spoke with Herrera," he started. "He thinks the judge keeps the cash evidence in her chambers."

_And as luck would have it…_ "You know where, exactly?" she tried.

"Not yet," he admitted. "Meet me in the office."

She glanced around the pillar. The judge was headed back toward her, away from her office. _Stupid and reckless_. "On my way," Nora agreed.

Nora waited until the judge had passed and the secretary wandered away. She stopped at the secretary's desk and stole a pen and a paperclip, quickly fashioning a rudimentary lock-pick. Making sure no one was in sight, she set to work on the door, popping the lock quickly.

She stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind her, and took a look around. There were a lot of potential hiding spots. She took a couple tissues from a box on a desk, as she didn't have a pair of gloves on her, and began her work. There was no sense in searching for the evidence; even if she found it, Nora was breaking and entering. The evidence would have been illegally obtained and therefore worthless.

Instead, she carefully made it look like someone had ransacked the office looking for evidence. If the judge thought her chambers weren't a safe hiding place anymore, she might slip up and do something stupid. She shot Mozzie a quick text message to meet her when she was done.

Before she left, she threw open the blinds of a window. They needed to be able to see the show when it went down. Nora left quickly, getting out as easily as she had gotten in, and met Mozzie where he sat facing the now-open window.

"Court's adjourned," she said, taking a seat next to him. "Clark should be back any minute now."

"Did you find anything in her chambers?" Mozzie asked.

"No. I made it look like someone tried to. You good to go?"

"Yup." He pulled a case off the ground and set up. He handed her a pair of binocular and pulled out one of his Russian surplus gizmos. It looked like a microphone, except it let him hear things from far away.

It didn't take too much longer before the judge returned to her chambers and noticed the mess. She called her secretary in and they started arguing. "She doesn't seem happy," Mozzie noted.

"What are they saying?"

"'Someone's been here.' 'What did they take?' 'I don't know. It doesn't seem like they took anything. The safe hasn't been touched.' There's a safe in there, and you didn't-"

"I didn't have time," she said flatly. "Stay focused."

He returned to the conversation. "'We're compromised. I need to move everything.' 'Today? Today's no good. Tomorrow's clear. Tomorrow cartoon.'"

Confused, Nora lowered her binoculars. "At noon," she guessed.

"Sometimes it clicks," Mozzie protested. "I don't know why. I modified it myse-"

"Focus." She returned her attention to the window.

"'Get me a deposit box at Certified National immediately.'" Nora grinned. "And they're gone. You gonna tell the suit?"

"Soon as he's out of his meeting."

* * *

Peter and Hughes sat in the latter man's office, waiting for Fowler to arrive. "Fowler requested a tap on your phone," Hughes told Peter. Peter just nodded, not surprised at all. There was a knock on the open door and Fowler stepped in. "Garrett."

He was holding a package with OMS courier branding on it. He pulled out a small tape and stood by a monitor that had been hooked up at his request. "So, what exactly do you want to show me?" Hughes asked dryly.

He smirked at Peter as he held up the tape. Peter glared back. "I'll let the evidence speak for itself." He popped the tape in. The blue screen turned black. They waited, but no video started playing. Peter and Hughes shared a look, just the slightest hint of a smirk.

Confused, Fowler started fiddling with the buttons, but nothing seemed to work. "Is there anything recorded on this?" Hughes asked.

"They must have sent the wrong tape," Fowler huffed.

"Until you have the right one, stop wasting my time." Frustrated, Fowler shook his head and stormed out. Peter had a sinking suspicion that they had the right tape, and that a certain someone had something to do with the malfunction. Without a word, he left the office. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nora standing in the middle of the bullpen. She smiled brightly as Fowler passed her.

Peter went down to join her. "I don't suppose you had anything to do with Fowler's blank tape?"

"Blank tape?" she asked innocently.

"Thanks."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Oh, but you should thank your wife." Peter grinned and they headed back upstairs.

"Okay, that bought us some more time. We need to make sure the money is in the judge's chamber."

"It is," she said with an amount of certainty that she should not have had.

"And get her to move it."

"She will, tomorrow at noon." Nora smirked proudly. "I even got the name of the bank where she's dumping it. We can take her down there."

"Your information on the judge and the money wasn't obtained legally, was it?" She shook her head. _At least we're being honest about it_, Peter mused. "We need probable cause for search and seizure on whatever is on her person."

"You telling me you can't arrest her with a briefcase full of money?"

"That's right. I can't." He glanced down at the open file on his desk for a moment. It was a paper signed by Fowler. He looked back up at her with a devious smirk, a crazy plan forming. "But maybe someone else can." He flipped it around for her to see.

"How do we let Fowler know that the judge is moving the money?"

"He's tapping my phone."


	16. Abandon All Hope

Chapter Sixteen

Abandon All Hope

"You ready?" Peter asked, dialing her number on his cellphone.

"Always." He pressed the button and it began to ring. She let it ring a few times. Peter nodded once, and she answered. They made sure to stand far enough apart that their voices wouldn't pick up from the other's speaker.

"Hey, it's me," he greeted. "I spoke with Judge Clark."

"Should we be talking about this on the phone?" she asked, feigning concern.

"This is my cellphone," he assured her. "We're fine. Listen, Judge Clark says if I don't pay her soon, she'll send the real tape to Fowler."

"What are you gonna do?"

He hesitated for a moment. "Get the money together," he instructed. "She wants it by noon today, or no deal. I'll need your help with the drop."

"Okay," Nora agreed. "Where is it?"

"Certified National at 51st and 2nd."

"Okay, I'll be there," she promised. Then she sighed deeply. "I'm sorry about this, Peter."

"Why are _you_ sorry?"

"Well, we both know why this is happening. The music box."

"Yeah, well, we'll figure it out. I gotta go." He hung up without another word.

Nora walked over to Peter. "By the way, it's a quarter to twelve," she reminded him.

"Then I better get there." They shared a grin. They were sure Fowler had been listening, and hoped he would take the bait.

* * *

The dumbfounded look on Fowler's face as the cavalry descended on him and Judge Clark almost made the trouble the case had caused worth it. Almost. Peter jogged up to them. It seemed their plan had worked flawlessly.

"What's going on Fowler?" Judge Clark demanded.

"Don't say a word. Let me handle this." He stepped forward as Peter neared. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Assisting you," Peter explained. "You're about to close a high-profile case. You're arresting Judge Clark on mortgage fraud. Cash in hand." Peter leaned in close, dropping his voice down low. "Unfortunately, this means no more pet judge. No more rubber stamps on your warrants."

"You have no authorization for this," Fowler hissed.

"Of course I have," Peter scoffed. "You gave it to me." He held up the paper Nora had forged with Fowler's signature. "This is your signature, isn't it?" Fowler's brow furrowed in confusion. "Because, if it is, you're a hero. But if not, well, I'm not sure how to explain what you're doing here."

Hughes walked up to join them. Peter had backed Fowler into a corner. Either he make the arrest, or he implicate himself. Fowler glanced between the two men as he worked through it in his mind.

"Judge Clark, you're under arrest," he decided.

"_What_?"

"You have the right to remain silent," he reminded her pointedly. "I highly recommend you exercise that right." She glared at the three of them as another agent started to handcuff her.

"This is a big win, Garrett," Hughes said as Judge Clark was led away. "Great work." He offered his hand for Fowler to shake.

"Yeah, great work," Peter said. Fowler just scowled at him.

* * *

Nora and Peter watched from the bullpen as Fowler 'interrogated' Judge Clark. Peter couldn't hide his smirk. After what seemed like a heated conversation, he packed his things and headed down the stairs.

"Hey, how's the interrogation going?" Peter asked

"Looked mad in there," Nora noted.

"Was that good cop, bad cop?" Peter added

"No," Nora corrected, "you need a good cop for that."

"She's plea bargaining out," Fowler announced, ignoring their taunting. "Confessing to mortgage fraud."

"Just mortgage fraud?" Nora asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I wonder who helped her arrange that deal?" Peter mused.

"Doesn't matter," Fowler said, grinning as if this was still a win for him. "She gave up her sources at the bank. Even the clerk who was helping her launder the money. She's gonna get a reduced sentence."

"She's taking advantage of the system," Peter summarized.

Nora shook her head slowly. "I hate when people do that… Now that I work for the system, of course."

"I appreciate you're cooperation on this one, Peter," Fowler continued, still with that shit-eating grin. "Next time I'm in from DC, I'll give you a call." With that, he pushed past Nora and headed for the elevator. That had been a blow for Fowler. It was still far from over, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

"Why don't we go give Mr. Sullivan the good news?" Peter decided.

* * *

Mr. Sullivan was elated to hear that everything had worked out. "Alright, it'll take some time to sort out all the paperwork," Nora told him as he and Allison showed them out, "but no one's taking this from you now."

"This is where she'll come home from her first day of school," Mr. Sullivan mused, stroking Allison's hair as they went down the stairs. "Maybe her first date."

Peter chuckled. "Your dad would be happy."

"Yeah, he would," Mr. Sullivan agreed. "Thank you."

Peter laughed again and pulled the foreclosure notice off the stoop. "Color on this," he told Allison, handing it to her.

"Thanks!" They all shared a laugh. It was a happy ending.

* * *

They made their way back to the Burke house. Mozzie had assured them that he would be finishing his sweep that day. He had just finished up as Nora and Peter pulled up.

"So, the rest of the house is clear?" Peter confirmed.

"Yes." He snatched a gadget that Nora had been fiddling with out of her hands. She scowled after him, but he ignored it. "But you're wiring belongs in a museum. You're living in a fire trap. The future is copper wiring. I know a guy-"

Peter cut him off. "You've done more than enough," he assured Mozzie. Nora chuckled. He had calmed down a bit from how he'd behaved the first day, a bit more relaxed being in a suit's house. "Thank you."

"Moz, I'll walk you out," Elizabeth offered.

Mozzie grabbed his case. "Oh, thanks, El."

Peter stared at them in disbelief. "El? Moz?" he huffed as Nora joined him by the table.

"He trusts her," she noted. "Guess they were okay here. I told you he grows on you."

Peter scowled. "Mixed victory."

"Lot of those lately," she noted.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You should be happy. Caught a dirty judge. Got rid of Fowler."

She sighed. "He won't stay away as long as I have the music box."

"As long as he _thinks _you have it," Peter corrected.

She glared at him. _How does he possibly know I don't have it_? He didn't relent. "Okay," she huffed. "I don't have it."

"Oh, look at that," he teased. "Telling the truth. Did it hurt?"

"Little bit," she snapped. He smirked. "Your turn. You hear back from Kyle?"

"I did," he admitted. He was looking in her eyes, perhaps trying to figure out what was going on inside her mind. "Just two words: 'See Robert.' That make any sense?"

_Yes and no…_ "Yeah, Robert's his father."

"Want to talk to him?"

"Won't be easy. He's dead." Kyle could have passed any message. Why did he chose to send her to see his dead father? It didn't make any sense.

"Do you know where he's buried?"

Nora sighed. "Yeah."

* * *

The two of them walked through the rows of gravestones. Nora knew the way; Kyle had 'introduced' her to his father several years ago, and they returned a few times after that. A chilly wind nipped at her nose and ruffled her hair. She curled her coat closer around herself as they walked. Nora had never really liked cemeteries much. There was an almost oppressive feeling of death and sadness that seemed to permeate the air. She was acutely aware of the fact that she was walking over corpses, and it sent a shiver down her spine if she let herself think about it.

"Kind of macabre for a meeting place," Peter joked.

"Yeah, it sends a certain message."

"Yeah," Mozzie's familiar voice called as he stepped around a grave stone to greet them. _How did he know how we were going to be here_? She hadn't told him. "'All hope abandon, ye who enter here.'" He was always so over dramatic.

Nora raised an eyebrow at Peter. "I called him," he admitted.

"Consider this you Kyle intervention," Mozzie said. "It's time to think about giving up the chase."

"No, thanks." She glanced around, ignoring their hard gazes pressing on her, and spotted the familiar grave stone. A bouquet of flowers was leaned against it. "There it is." She crouched down in front of it as Peter and Mozzie drew up behind her. "Robert Moreau."

"Kyle's father," Peter mused.

"Yeah." She picked up the bouquet.

"Flowers are a few days old," Peter noted, always the perceptive detective.

"Yeah."

"He's been here." Nora's eye caught on something buried in the center of the bouquet. Something you wouldn't notice unless you looked closely. She plucked out the yellow paper lily and turned it over in her fingers. It was so painfully familiar, and not at something Nora had expected to see again. She pocketed it. "Anything?" Peter asked.

"No," she lied. "Maybe you guys were right. Abandon all hope."

Peter turned to walk away, but Nora stayed crouched in front of the grave. Mozzie closed the space between them, waiting until Peter was too far away to hear before he spoke. "Does that flower mean what I think it means?"

"Yeah. I think it does." She glanced up at him. "Think you'd be able to track down an old friend?"

"As if you even need to ask."


	17. Hearts Wide Open

Chapter Seventeen

Hearts Wide Open

After a couple weeks of dreary gray skies, rain, and chill, the sun broke through the clouds once more, plunging the city into the crisp August heat. Nora still obsessed over finding the music box, staying cooped up in her apartment when she wasn't busy at work. June, warm and kind-hearted as she was, began to worry about Nora, and invited her to come with her to watch her youngest granddaughter's soccer game in the park. June's concern was touching, and Nora found herself unable to refuse.

Nora had only met Samantha a handful of times, whenever June's daughter came around the house. June's daughter didn't exactly have her mother's soft side for criminals and was somewhat wary around Nora. Samantha got along well with Nora, however, as Nora always did slight-of-hand 'magic tricks' that usually involved the little girl walking away with a handful of quarters.

June had, at one point, explained that Samantha was sick, in and out of the children's hospital for some kidney disease while she waited for a donor.

Nora and June sat under a gazebo as they watched the soccer game. The kids ran back and froth across the field clumsily while parents cheered. Samantha was very good at soccer, and scored lots of goals.

Nora sighed contentedly, relishing in the heat and the cool breeze. "Scenery, fresh air… Just about everything I couldn't get at my last address," she joked.

"Byron loved the park, too," June told her. "For very much the same reasons." She laughed as she noted the similarity.

Nora grinned. "You have a weak spot for us bad eggs, don't you?" June smiled knowingly. They returned their attention to the game, where Samantha scored another goal. The girl started cheering triumphantly. "She's pretty good."

"Yes, she is."

Samantha started running toward them. "Oh, here she comes," Nora noted.

"Grandma June, did you see?" She smiled radiantly. It was an infectious smile, not quite what you would expect from a sick child.

"Yes, I did. And you were wonderful."

"I'm gonna go again. Watch!"

"Okay, I'm watching," June assured her.

"Go get 'em," Nora called after the girl as she raced back toward the field. "Your granddaughter doesn't look sick."

"Not today," June said sadly. She sighed heavily. "Samantha was taken off the donor's list last week."

Nora's heart sank. Why would a little kid be taken off a donor list? That didn't sit right with her. "What can I do?"

* * *

After talking to June about Samantha's problem, she was sure something fishy was going on. Something FBI-worthy. She decided to pay Peter a visit the next morning about her hunch. The door was unlocked, and Peter and Elizabeth spun around in confusion as she let herself in.

"Morning, Nora," Elizabeth greeted slowly, brow furrowed.

She grinned. "I hope you don't mind. I let myself in."

"I mind," Peter huffed. She ignored him and took a seat across the table from him.

"You guys having breakfast?" she asked politely.

"Yeah, we're having breakfast," Peter said, still caught somewhere between confusion and exasperation. "It's a crazy ritual I'm sort of fond of. You wanna know why?"

Her eyes caught on the cereal box. "Because you love the free toys," she guessed, grabbing the box.

"Because breakfast doesn't involve you," he corrected. She peered in the box, looking for the prize. "You see, every morning I sit at my dining table with my lovely wife and my delicious cereal and no thoughts of Nora Caffrey."

She ignored him, plunging her hand in the box and digging for the toy. "It says there's a free sheriff's badge," she explained. "You get it already?"

Peter was at a loss. "El, do something," he plead.

"Do you want a bowl with that cereal?" she offered, passing an empty bowl over to Nora.

"Thank you," Nora said with a pointed look at Peter. "Manners." She found the sheriff's badge and pulled it out happily.

"That's not what I had in mind." El just shrugged. "Why are you here?" he demanded.

Nora sat the badge down. Peter fell for Nora's ploy. If she annoyed him enough, he'd agree to nearly anything – within reason – if it meant she would go away. "I'm here because of June," she explained, now serious.

"June owns the house Nora lives in," Peter told El.

"I know who June is," El assured him.

"Her granddaughter needs a kidney," Nora continued, "but she was bumped from the transplant list last week."

Peter's annoyance was momentarily forgotten. "Why?"

"I don't know," Nora admitted. "But a few days ago, a woman approached June and said her organization could help find a kidney for her granddaughter."

"A lot of charities do that," Peter allowed.

"Yeah. But she asked for a donation... of $100,000."

"A hundred grand?" He was beginning to see the same thing Nora had, that something wasn't quite right. "Look at you, bringing me a case."

She sat back in her seat, clipping the plastic badge to her jacket. "It's what us lawmen do."

Peter chuckled. "Okay, I'm interested," he decided. "Talk to June, get me specifics."

"So I can run with it?"

"Run with it?" Peter scoffed. "No, Barney Fife. You can walk very slowly, as long as you don't interrupt my breakfast again." Elizabeth bit back a laugh.

"Gotcha," Nora agreed. "Enjoy you're meal." She stood to leave.

"Uh, Nora," Peter called as she headed for the door. "Remember, that's not real." He motioned toward the sheriff's badge.

"Heh," she laughed, grinning mischievously.

* * *

"Those were his words?" Mozzie asked incredulously. She'd called him to help out during her meeting and quickly caught him up on the details. "Run with it?"

"More or less," she dodged, placing the last couple of pins in her hair in front of the mirror.

"I'm assuming less."

"Peter told me to get specifics," she protested. "I can't do that until I meet with the charity's representative. Which is why I set up a face-to-face as June's financial adviser."

"Who's the representative?"

"Melissa Calloway," Nora explained. "Charity's called Hearts Wide Open."

"That is truly menacing. If I made a horror movie, I would definitely call it 'Hearts Wide Open.'"

Nora pulled up the feed from June's security cameras on her TV and watched as a car pulled up outside the house. "Right on time."

"Already I don't trust this woman," Mozzie huffed.

"Because she drove here?"

"A New Yorker who does not take the subway is not a New Yorker you can trust."

She raised an eyebrow. "I don't take the subway," she reminded him.

"Precisely."

Nora laughed a little under her breath and returned her attention to the security footage. "She left her briefcase in the back," she noted. "Alright, Moz, I need a favor." He cocked his head to the side. "Break into her car."

He gave her a withering look. "That's not so much a favor as a truly horrible idea. It's one o'clock in the afternoon. There's a reason most crimes happen at night. _People can't see you_."

She rolled her eyes. "Alright, fine," she conceded. "Fine. I'll do it." _It's not like I'm the one on a tenuous probation who will go back to prison if I get caught_.

"Uh, you have a meeting," he reminded her.

"No, _you _have a meeting. If you're gonna be a baby about breaking into the car, you can take the meeting instead." He looked at her as if she'd gone insane. She sighed. "This is for June, remember?"

He rolled his eyes dramatically, and Nora knew she had him. "I need a tie." She ran back to the closet and found one of Byron's old ties that she thought would go well with his gray shirt.

"Ask about the charity," she instructed as he started putting it on in front of the mirror. She grabbed a lock-pick kit from one of her hidden cubbies. "How it works. More importantly, how the money works. And buy me twenty minutes."

She started for the door. "Since when am I a people person?" he huffed.

That was a fair point. Mozzie did not do well when he was put on the spot. "Just do what I do," she advised.

"'Just do what I do'" she heard him mock as she headed out into the hallway. She was vaguely curious about what it was he thought she did, but decided he would figure _something _out.

She went out the back, making sure Melissa was no where in sight as she headed for the car. Out on the street, she cast casual glances over her shoulder. A few pedestrians walked on the sidewalks, and the occasional car passed, but no one was paying particular attention to her.

She pulled the lock-pick kit out of her pocket, shielding it from view from any passers-by as well as she could without looking suspicious, and picked out the tools she thought she would need before stowing the kit back in her pocket. Before she could get started on the look, she caught a glimpse of the reflection on the window. A police officer rounded the corner and was casually strolling her direction. _Because, why not_? She tucked the picks in her pocket.

She slammed her hand against the door in frustration. "Great!" she hissed. "Man, just great." She paced away, pretending as if she hadn't noticed the cop.

"Is there a problem, miss?" he asked, crossing the street quickly.

She spun around as if she'd just noticed he was there. "Oh, officer, hi. Can you give me a hand here? I locked my briefcase in my car. And, of course, my husband grabbed the wrong keys again."

"You got ID that proves this is your car?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," she lied. "Yes, sir. It's in the glove box right here." She sighed again in frustration. "Damn it. I gotta be at the courthouse in twenty minutes."

"You a lawyer?" he asked.

"Ah, prosecutor. Arraigning this dirt bag who took a swing at a cop when he showed up on a domestic." Nothing gets a cop angrier than someone who tries to hurt one of their own.

"Guy hit a cop?"

"Right across the jaw."

The officer was silent for a moment before he pulled out his radio. "This is Yatsko," he said into it. "I'm gonna need a patrol car right away." He smiled sweetly at her as the person on the other end confirmed.

She smiled back. _Please, Mozzie, don't screw this up._ She waited, chatting idly with the officer. It seemed to take an eternity, but it was really just a few minutes before the patrol car pulled up. If Mozzie was seeing what was going on, he would be having a cow, she was sure.

The officer in the patrol car stepped out and Officer Yatsko ran over the situation for him. He got a slim Jim out of his car and started on the lock. "You guys have no idea how much I appreciate this," she told them.

"Any time," Officer Yatsko assured her. "Hey, what was the name of the arresting officer on your case?"

_You really gotta complicate this, don't you_? She pretended to think for a moment. "Jones," she lied. There had to be tons of officers with that surname. "Jones. Sixth Precinct."

Officer Yatsko nodded slowly. "Jones. Jones… You know a Jones?" he asked the other officer.

"I know Jones," he decided.

"Of course you know Jones," Nora laughed. "Yeah. He's a sweetheart. Kind of a tough guy. You know, he could do something if he applied himself, you know?"

They nodded in agreement. "Yeah, he's a real ball-buster," the other officer joked. The lock popped with a _clunk_ and the officer opened the door for her.

"Oh, great," she sighed in relief, sliding into the seat. "Let me just… let me just grab my ID for you." She racked her brain, trying to figure out how to talk herself out of not having an ID.

"No, you're good, miss," Officer Yatsko assured her.

"Are you sure? I got it right here."

"Yeah, don't worry about it." She let out a breath of relief. _Finally, something goes my way_.

She put on a happy face and situated herself back in the seat. "Alright, I'll see ya. I'm gonna get this guy for you," she promised.

"Thanks," Officer Yatsko said. They turned away with a smile and a wave. The officer got back in his patrol car and drove off and Officer Yatsko disappeared around a corner.

Grinning, Nora pulled the briefcase onto her lap and started digging through it. She pulled out her phone and started taking pictures of anything she could find that looked relevant. As she worked, her phone started ringing.

"Moz, don't worry, the cops are gone," she assured him, assuming that was what he was calling about.

"That's great. I hope you're done." There was a twinge of panic in his voice.

"Not yet."

"Well, then get done," he huffed. "You told me to do what you do." _Oh, no_. "So, I asked her where she bought her clothes."

"What happened?" she asked, stifling a laugh.

"She left… running." The clock was ticking, then. Nora started quickly but neatly returning the papers where she found them. Her eyes caught on an invitation to a tennis tournament on August 23, in just a few days' time. She committed that to memory, tossed the briefcase back into the back seat and stepped out of the car casually. Melissa was just coming out of June's door. Nora passed her, and Melissa kept going, paying no attention to the person who had just broken into her car.

It had probably been for the best that Mozzie hadn't been the one to break into the car. If he had, he would have panicked the second he saw the cop. It was much better that he scared the lady away talking about clothes. Nora laughed. She probably though he was some creepy stalker or something.


	18. Doctoral Global Initiative

Chapter Eighteen

Doctoral Global Initiative

Nora filled Peter in on the details that night and he promised to look into it. They met on the twenty-first floor the next morning. "Looked into Hearts Wide Open," he told her as they stepped through the glass doors. "Your friend Melissa works for the charity's founder, Dr. Wayne Powell." He handed her a file. "Runs a number of high-end medical clinics across the east coast. Very respectable kind of guy."

"I wouldn't be so sure," she said slowly as they headed up the stairs. "I talked to Melissa." Peter rounded on her with a hard look, stopping in his tracks. "I got some names."

"Are they admissible?" She pursed her lips, shaking her head slowly. "Let me tell you a story."

Peter's stories were usually just lectures in the form of an anecdote. "That's really not necessary," she tried.

"I had a CI once," he continued, ignoring her. "Local kid named Jimmy Burger. Raised some money and opened a restaurant on 5th."

"Let me guess," she injected. "He called it Jimmy's Burgers?"

"No."

"Burger Joint?"

"You done?" Peter snapped.

"Yeah."

Peter continued. "In order to stay in business, he had to do the mob some favors. But Jimmy didn't like that, so he came to us. He helped us make some cases." Peter leaned in close. "But then Jimmy got cocky. Started sticking his nose where it didn't belong. You know what happened?"

"It didn't end happily ever after?"

"No," Peter agreed. "He took one. Right there." He poked her between the eyes. She crossed her eyes as she stared at his finger.

She cocked her head to the side. "Why are you telling me this?" It definitely wasn't Peter's usual lectures.

"Because Jimmy Burger is an example of what happens when you try running the show on your own." His voice was low, serious and somber. "Don't." He turned and headed the rest of the way up the stairs.

"Hey, Nora," Jones called. She quickly motioned behind Peter's back for Jones to stop, but he wasn't paying attention. "Here's the info on those names you asked me to check out." He handed her a file.

"Unbelievable," Peter huffed. "It's like talking to a wall."

"I hadn't heard your story yet," she protested.

"Let me see." She turned so he could look over her shoulder as she opened the file. She scanned through the names quickly. "Huh. They're all members of Doctoral Global Initiative." It started to click in her mind. "Powell's charity is supplying organs. Maybe this is how he's finding them."

"Interesting, using the Third World as your own organ bank," Peter scoffed. "Still, it's too circumstantial to make a case. Let's talk to Powell."

"I know where to find him." She smirked, but a look at Peter made her drop it. Peter glared at her, as if she was ignoring his warning about Jimmy Burger, even though she hadn't heard the story when she broke into the car.

* * *

They pulled up to the country club where the tennis tournament was being held. It was lavish. A fancy fountain bubbled outside in the center of the drive. Peter felt out of place as they stepped inside. He glanced over at Nora. She looked like she was right in her element.

"Alright, scan the crowd," he instructed her. "Powell's gotta be in there somewhere."

"Invite only, sir, ma'am," a man standing in the entry hall told them.

"Okay," Nora said, digging through her purse. "Oh, I think I let mine at home."

"Sorry," he said. "Then you're going to have to go home and get it." Peter watched her, wondering how she was going to sweet-talk their way in.

"Okay." She turned away. Peter was baffled.

He caught her by the arm. "That was your plan?" he hissed. "What, you didn't forge an invitation?"

Her eyes grew wide. "I was allowed to?"

"No." _But since when do you care what you're _allowed _to do_?

Her eyes fixed on something over Peter's shoulder. "Wait, that's her," she said. She headed off in that direction. "Excuse me. Hi." She made her way over to a woman with strawberry blonde hair. "I seem to have forgotten my invitation."

The woman stared at Nora blankly. "And you are?"

"Dr. Parker from Doctoral Global Initiative," she lied. "But you can call me Lenore. You are?" She offered a hand to the woman.

"Miss Calloway," she introduced. "Remember your invitation next time, doctor. Have a good afternoon."

"You too."

Peter came up next to Nora. "Let's go."

Miss Calloway spun around. "I'm sorry." She smiled sweetly at Peter. "And you are?"

"Doctor-" He drew a blank. He wasn't expecting to be put on the spot like that.

"Edgar Tannenbaum," Nora supplied. It was exactly the kind of name she would come up with. "He's from DGI as well."

"Pleasure to meet you," Miss Calloway said warmly as she shook Peter's hand, a stark contrast to the indifference she'd had toward Nora. "I'm Melissa."

Nora's brow was furrowed as she watched. Peter ignored her. "Nice to meet you, Melissa."

"What is your area of expertise, doctor?"

Peter hesitated. Nora looked at him expectantly. "Chiropractics," he lied. Her eye twitched ever so slightly, but she kept her placid smile in place.

"You're a chiropractor," Melissa repeated, surprised. "And you work with DGI?"

"Poor posture doesn't discriminate," Nora said quickly.

"No," Peter agreed.

Melissa smiled at Peter. "We may have a few slots still available," she decided. "You two willing to get your hands dirty?" They agreed. "Then follow me."

They lagged behind and Nora looked at Peter in a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. He shrugged. "You underestimate me."

"They're alright," they heard Melissa tell the man standing at the entrance. They started after her.

Nora stopped Peter, slinging an arm over his shoulder. She smirked up at him, resting her chin on his shoulder. "You do realize that you have to flirt with her for the rest of the day, right?" Peter's stomach dropped. He hadn't considered that. "Should be a fun story to tell Elizabeth over breakfast tomorrow."

Peter sighed and Nora sauntered past. The guard eyed Peter with judgment. Peter just gave him a hard look and followed Nora in. They made their way to the pool out back. People milled about and Peter scanned the faces.

"There's Powell by the bar," he noted. Melissa had gone over to speak with the man from the photo Jones pulled. "See if you can get close to him."

"You'll have to pry your girlfriend off his arm first," she teased, smirking at him.

Peter scoffed. "Any schlub can pick up a girl at a bar. Want a challenge? Try keeping a beautiful woman happy for ten years running."

"How long has it been," she asked

"Summer of '98."

"Woah," she said, stopping dead. "You haven't flirted in the 21st century?""

He thought about that for a second. "No." She made a face, but didn't say anything. The kept walking. "Alright, listen, when you talk to Powell, tell him that you're from Doctoral Global Initiative. See how he reacts."

"Copy that, Tannebaum." He rolled his eyes, and left her to go 'pry' Melissa away from Powell.

"Hey, there," he said smoothly. "You look thirsty."

"I would love a drink," she said, smiling. "Oh, and I still need to show you your spot, don't I?"

"Right," he agreed. "Let's go see my spot."

She turned to Powell. "I'll be back in a minute." She led Peter away. That had been simple enough. Now it was Nora's turn.

* * *

Nora waited until Peter and Melissa got far enough away to approach the bar, mussing up her hair a little as she walked. "Scotch on the rocks," she told the bartender, feigning fatigue. "Actually, you know what? Hold the rocks. I just got off a thirty hour flight. Sooner I forget it, the better."

Dr. Powell took the bait. "There's a trick to that, you know? Sleeping pills."

She raised an eyebrow, not convinced. "Yeah, it never works. Too wound up."

"The trick is not taking it on the plane," he clarified. "Take it in the car on the way to airport." He took a sip of his drink.

"Thanks for the advice, doctor..."

"Powell."

"Powell? Dr. Wayne Powell?" He nodded. Nora laughed a little. "Oh my- you're one of my heroes," she gushed. He smiled a little, perhaps trying to come off as humble. "Lenore Parker, Doctoral Global Initiative." She offered her hand.

He regarded her for a moment as he shook her hand. "DGI. Well, may I say that you are one of my heroes." _So far, so good_.


	19. Flirt

Chapter Nineteen

Flirt

Nora had fully captured Powell's attention. "Doctoral Global Initiative is one of the few charitable organizations I still respect," he told her.

"Is that why you founded Hearts Wide Open?"

"One of the reasons." The bartender got Powell's attention and the doctor had him top off his glass of cranberry juice. _What's that about?_ she wondered. "You know, perhaps you can, uh, help me." He shifted a little, readjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "I've got what you, uh, might call a friend in need." She nodded, beginning to see what was going on. She listened to his story about his 'friend.'

"See," he continued after going over the friend's medical history, "his, uh, remaining kidney is highly sensitized. PRA is through the roof. What he needs is a zero mismatch."

Nora bit her lip for a moment. "Well, perfect compatibility is rare."

"I'm hopeful. There's a village on the outskirts of Manipur. Genetics of the population show some promise."

"India? I travel there often. It's unfortunate the locals can't legally sell you what you need. Both parties would win."

Powell regarded her for a moment. "My friend would agree with you. I'll tell you what. Why don't you give me a call whenever you find yourself there." He handed her a business card. "We make exceptionally charitable donations." He flashed her a knowing smile and patted her on the shoulder before turning to head toward a group of people by the pool.

* * *

Melissa led Peter back out to the front of the country club where a small white tent was set up in the well-manicured green lawn. "You work closely with Dr. Powell?" he asked as they walked.

"He keeps a small circle," she explained. "Your friend back there seems to have captured his attention."

"She's a charmer," Peter admitted lightly.

She smirked. "Does she work her charms on you?"

Peter chuckled. "No. Lenore's more the type to chase after some young, handsome face." _One, in particular_.

"I prefer someone with a little more... experience, myself." She grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing server and passed one to Peter. "You're married," she noted.

"Ten years and counting." The best lies contain an element of truth. _You're beginning to sound like Nora_, he chided himself.

"Commitment," she mused, raising her glass. Peter clinked his against it. "Another quality I admire." They made it into the tent, and Melissa started running down everything that she thought Peter ought to know about it.

"We've arranged this setup in case any of our athletes have any injuries today," she explained. "The club has a doctor on call, but would you mind acting as backup?"

"I'm here to help."

"Great." She took his glass and sat it on a table with hers. "I'll be your first patient." Peter's stomach flip-flopped as she started unbuttoning her top. "I've had this knot in my back. Would you mind taking a look?"

"No," he managed. She pulled the top off and spun around. The slip underneath was revealing, and Peter swallowed down a lump in his throat. "Okay. Everything appears smooth."

"Just below the fifth vertebra," she added, pointing out where. Tentatively, Peter started messaging the spot, trying to touch her as little as possible. "You feel that? Lot of tension, right?"

"I can feel the tension, yup. Yup. Maybe this is stress from- from work, maybe?"

"Maybe," she allowed. "Why don't you go lower?" Peter drew in a breath, discomfort welling inside of him. He thought of El, how heartbroken she would be if she could see him. Slowly, he inched his hands down a little lower.

After a minute, Melissa spun around. "Maybe we're working the wrong side." He yanked his hands away.

"I'm not quite ready for that," he told her, grabbing her gently by the waist and turning her back around. "Maybe you should tell me more about your work with Dr. Powell. Why it's causing so much tension down here."

"Well, we operate the Howser Clinic in Manhattan," she explained.

"The Howser? Best clinic there is. I've been dying to check it out."

"Well, you should come see it for yourself." She grabbed a business card and pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket. "This is my personal number," she explained, writing it on the card against his chest. "Feel free to give me a call." She shrugged, a coy smile playing at her lips. "Whenever you're ready."

He took the card and she slipped the pen back in his pocket. She grabbed her top as she headed moved to leave the tent. Peter followed her out. Nora watched in disbelief as Melissa pulled her top back on.

He said nothing, just started walking. Slowly, she followed, still dumbfounded.

* * *

Nora wouldn't shut up about it for the rest of the day, and it was beginning to grate on Peter's nerves. He tried snapping at her, ignoring her, and threatening her with a mountain of paperwork, but to no avail.

"Hey, uh, Dr. Tannenbaum," she joked, coming into his office later that evening. She closed the door behind her. "Elizabeth was just wondering, does FBI stand for Female Body Inspector?"

He rolled his eyes. "Sit down and shut up." She laughed to herself, but did as she was told. "I pulled Powell's travel records. He's been flying to India quite a bit. But I can't arrest the guy for building up his mileage." He dropped the file he'd been reading down on his desk.

"What about the people he uses to scout for donor organs?"

"Virtually impossible to prove," he sighed. "The charity masks their work as volunteering, and all the funds that pass through there are tagged as charitable contributions. Powell looks like a saint through all this." Nora shook her head. "And considering his own condition..."

"His own condition?" she asked.

"Kidney disease."

"That explains why he was drinking cranberry juice at the club," she mused.

"That's right. Apparently he was born with just one kidney. His PRAs are high. He needs-"

"A zero mismatch," Nora finished. "Peter, he's got the perfect cover here. If he weren't so dirty, I'd almost respect him." There was a note of bitterness in her voice. Nora was never one to hurt people doing what she did. Oh, sure, she'd argue logical circles around Peter all day long any time he suggested that theft _did_ hurt people. But, even on her worst days, she would never considered doing something so horrible as Dr. Powell. He was devious and smart, which were things she respected, but his application of those skills was something she just couldn't get behind.

"Alright, what we have here is a nice little theory. I need proof. And I'm guessing it's all here." He handed her the business card Melissa had given him.

"The Howser Clinic?" She cocked her head to the side. "What, you think he'd keep patient records there?"

"Someone's gotta keep a log of all those wealthy friends."

"Let's take a look," she suggested.

"Can't. Doctor-patient confidentiality prohibits us from getting inside. We need to look at this another way." Peter sighed. They weren't getting much further without those records. "Why don't we call it a night," he decided.


	20. The Howser Clinic

Chapter Twenty

The Howser Clinic

She found Mozzie playing chess with himself when she got home from the office later that evening. She studied the board for a moment. "Byrne vs. Bobby Fischer, 1956," she noted and smiled proudly.

"Very good," Mozzie allowed. "Who won?"

"Fischer. Sacrificed his queen on move seventeen." He was silent, just staring down at the board blankly, hand cupped over his chin. "You alright?"

He drew in a heavy breath. "The charity rescinded its offer to June's granddaughter."

"_What_?" she hissed.

"Yup."

She sighed in frustration, running a hand through her hair, and started pacing. "God. They say why?"

"They say they found a more _urgent_ recipient."

She slumped down into the seat next to Mozzie. "And you-"

"Yes," he said before she could finish. "I scouted the clinic. Something's got them spooked. Employees have been throwing files into the garbage all day."

"You see what the files were?"

"I couldn't," he admitted. "It's pretty upscale. Private security everywhere." He sighed. "Any idea what's got them rattled?"

"I have a pretty good idea."

* * *

"Honey?" Elizabeth called from downstairs that evening. Peter had been getting ready to take a shower, wanting to to put the whole uncomfortable day behind him.

He headed down the stairs. "Yeah?" He rounded the corner and saw her holding the business card from Melissa.

She looked up at him, brow furrowed in confusion. "What is this?"

He hesitated. "I was gonna talk to you about that." He took a seat on the coffee table. "That is part of an undercover job I was working. And part of the cover was that I had to talk to another woman."

She flipped the card around, noting Melissa's personal number. "You must have been quite the conversationalist."

There was no sense in lying. "I had to flirt with her. So Nora could get closer to the target."

"You had to seduce another woman?"

"No," he assured her. "No. I had- just had drinks with her. Nothing happened, El. I swear." Her face scrunched up, and she pursed her lips tight together, pressing the card against them. For a moment, Peter thought she was going to cry. But no… "Are you _laughing_?" She snickered. "You're laughing."

"You had to _flirt_?" She was clearly getting a kick out of the whole situation. "You hate flirting."

"I know. And now I remember why."

"What did you say to her?"

"I said that she looked thirsty," he admitted, realizing that it was not very good, as far as pickup lines went. But, it worked, so it couldn't have been that bad. El giggled. "It worked."

"Oh, please tell me there's surveillance video of this." His phone started ringing. "I gotta see this."

Peter stepped away to answer the call, leaving El still giggling hysterically on the couch. It was Nora. "Yeah?"

"Hey, it's me. I'm just wondering if you looked into that clinic yet."

"I had the bureau put in a request for their financial records," he explained. "Why?"

"No," she said lightly. "I'm just checking. Thanks… Why is Elizabeth laughing?"

"No idea," he said quickly. "Talk to you later."

* * *

Peter hung up and Nora stared at the phone in her hand for a moment before walking back inside. "The FBI asked for copies of their financial records," she told Mozzie, tossing the phone down on the table and returning to her seat.

"That explains it," he mused. "I'd be doctoring my books right now, too."

She started fiddling with the chess pieces on the board idly. "We have to get into that clinic," she decided. It was a horribly stupid idea, but it had to be done. "See what they're trying to get rid of."

Mozzie raised an eyebrow. "Have a plan?"

She picked up a pawn and rolled it around in her fingers for a moment, considering it. "Don't I always?"

* * *

Nora dressed the part of the doctor, with a white coat, business attire, and a pair of glasses that she thought made her look very smart. She wheeled a babbling Mozzie into the Howser Clinic bright and early the next morning. "I promise I will never even think about going up in a tall building again," he muttered. "Oh, God, please don't let me die."

She stopped at the reception desk. "Hi, I'm here to drop off a patient," she told the receptionist.

"Fists with your toes," Mozzie added, "I'm a cop."

The woman started checking something on her computer. Nora took in her surroundings quickly. Mozzie had been right about the place crawling with private security. She spied a sign with doctor names and room numbers and quickly memorized it.

"Uh, mental health services doesn't have anyone to come in today," the receptionist told her.

"Let's see you take this under advisement, jerkweed," Mozzie shouted, making the receptionist jump. The security guard watched him closely.

"Right, they wouldn't have said anything," Nora said softly. "Um… this is a bit sensitive. The mayor asked for it to be handled quietly." The woman's eyes widened a little. Nora leaned in a little. "It's his nephew. I can't exactly give you his name, but he thinks he's-"

"Yippie ki-yay, motherf-!"

"Bruce," Nora said firmly, giving him stern look. "Bruce." Mozzie stopped.

"Just a fly in the ointment, Hans," he muttered. It was some truly superb acting on Mozzie's part. Give him an eccentric role and a few hours to prepare, and he killed it.

Nora turned back to the receptionist. "You've gotta get him in to see Dr. Westlake, right away," she said urgently.

"I'll ring him now." She reached for the phone.

"Oh, wait," Nora said, "hold on. Hold on." Her hand froze on the phone. "My patient sees you making a call, he might get upset. Think you're alerting the bad guys." Mozzie was spinning his wheelchair around in circles, eyes wide and frenzied, glasses askew. "I'll just take him to Dr. Westlake myself. It's room 207, right?"

"Right." She was staring at Mozzie.

"Great." Nora flashed her a smile. "On your feet, Bruce. Come on." He stood reluctantly, trembling. "Thank you," she told the receptionist.

"Welcome to the party, pal," Mozzie added.

"Don't oversell it," she breathed as she led him toward the stairs.

They headed past the security guard, still eyeing Mozzie suspiciously, and made their way up the stairs. "Nice work, Moz," she said once they were out of earshot. "You can quit shaking now."

"I'm not acting," he protested. "I hate hospitals." They passed a nurse, who sneezed loudly into his hand. "Now I have what he has."

They moved quickly, keeping their eyes peeled. As they moved, they heard the receptionist's voice call over the PA. "Dr. Westlake, call reception Dr. Westlake, call reception." _Not good._ They hurried along.

They peered around corners, making sure the coast was clear. Someone moved down the end of a hall, and they ducked back. It was a janitor pushing a recycling bin. He dumped a whole bin full of papers into his can and moved along. "Looks like a waste of some perfectly good files," Mozzie muttered.

The janitor disappeared down another hall. "Alright, I'm going." She moved down the hallway toward Dr. Powell's office. Mozzie stayed behind, slipping on a janitor's shirt that had been left behind on one of their carts, preparing to dig through the files.

The office was unlocked. She looked around. It was tidy, and well-organized. She started looking through drawers for any records she could find that might be useful. She tried his laptop, to no avail. Finally, she ended up with a briefcase that was on the floor under his desk. She made quick work of the locks and took a peek at the papers inside.

"Here we go," she muttered as she scanned over a list of names. "Every donor on here is a major player in this city."

A voice came over the PA again. "Paging security to Dr. Powell's office. Paging security to Dr. Powell's office." _Well, crap_.

She grabbed a pen and wrote a note at the top of the paper. "Peter, I hope you get this." She ran over to the fax machine and sent it off to Peter's number. It just started going through as two orderlies burst though the door. One of them grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and pinned her against the wall. "Hey, hey," she protested.

"Stop that fax." The other orderly moved to do as asked. "Don't move," he snapped at Nora. The orderly pulled the fax out, and she prayed silently that Peter got enough of her message.

"I'm borrowing Dr. Powell's fax machine," she insisted.

"Come here," he pulled her toward the center of the room and pulled her doctor's coat off while the other orderly grabbed the phone on the desk and made a quick call. A few minutes later, a nurse brought in a gurney. The orderly started making a second phone call while the one holding Nora heaved her into it. She didn't try to resist, knowing it would make the situation a whole lot worse. started strapping her wrists and ankles in.

"Dr. Powell," the orderly on the phone greeted. "We've got a situation here. There's this woman. She was in your office." Nora licked her lips. Things had gone south very quickly. "She won't say. But she has some kind of tracker on her ankle and she was going through your files. We figured you'd want to know before we involved the authorities, Dr. Powell… Understood." He hung up the phone.

He muttered something to the nurse and she bustled out of the room, returning a few minutes later with a syringe. She was a stern, no-nonsense looking woman. Nora gasped as she plunged the needle into her arm. "This is to help you relax," the nurse explained.

"I hope there's something fun in there, Nurse Ratched." Whatever they gave her, it was strong. It took only a few minutes before she could feel her body start to relax, her mind being to cloud over. She found it hard to string coherent thoughts together.

Without realizing it, she found herself alone. The nurse and the orderlies must have decided she was no longer a threat and left to do other things. Nora's mind was a jumbled mess. _Peter_, she remembered.

_Aw man, Peter's going to be so mad… Heh, he's funny when he was mad… Bleh bleh bleh laws, blah blah blah trust… These straps are uncomfortable._ She had some wiggle room and managed to get a Bobby pin into her hand. _Never__ leave home without at least five bobby pins_. The locks were child's play.

_Where's Peter_? _Aw man, Peter's gonna be so mad_.


	21. Jimmy Burger

Chapter Twenty-One

Jimmy Burger

Peter was getting ready for work the next morning. "Honey, are you expecting a fax?" Elizabeth asked, standing confused at the bookshelf.

"No," he laughed. But, sure enough, something was coming through the fax machine. "I didn't even know that thing was still plugged in."

Elizabeth pulled the paper out while Peter packed his briefcase. "Jimmy Burger?" Peter's blood ran cold. "Who's Jimmy Burger?"

He rushed over and took the paper from her. "That's Nora." The name Jimmy Burger was, in fact, written across the top in her delicate handwriting. Though, it was choppier than normal, he noted. She'd written it quickly. Something was wrong.

Peter grabbed his cellphone and dialed quickly. "Electronic Monitoring Compliance Unit," the chipper voice greeted.

"This is Burke, FBI. I need the location of detention tracking anklet ninety-three oh-five alpha, Nora Caffrey." He paced as he spoke.

"Is Nora in trouble?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yeah," he sighed. "She's in a lot of trouble."

"Agent Burke," the woman on the phone said, "we have her located at 626 William Street." Peter hung up. That was familiar. He pulled Melissa's business card out of his pocket. Sure enough… He slammed the phone down on the table in frustration.

"Caffrey," he hissed. "I told her not to go to that clinic! I _told her_!" He threw the card down and started pacing again. "But she's Nora. She doesn't _think_." He grabbed his jacket. "They're going to send her back to prison for this. What I have to do is call Judge Chivero and get a warrant."

"Why don't you just get somebody to, I don't know, show you the place?" El suggested, grabbing the card off the table and holding it up pointedly. Peter froze. "If she invites you in, that's okay, right?"

_That could work…_ It would be a lot faster than waiting to get the warrant. Not to mention, possibly salvaging the case. Peter sighed. He decided to call it a gray area and picked up the phone.

Melissa answered on the first ring. "This is Melissa," she greeted.

"Hey, Melissa," he greeted as smoothly as he could muster. Then his mind blanked. El grabbed the phone and put it on speaker, setting it on the table between them. She motioned for Peter to keep going. He felt better knowing El was there to help him through it. "This is Dr. Tannenbaum from the tennis club. How are you?"

"Actually, I'm going into the office for Dr. Powell."

"Perfect. Uh, you said I could swing by any time. And I'm gonna be in the neighborhood." El smiled encouragingly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, but today is not looking good."

El pressed the mute button as Peter flailed, trying desperately to keep his head above the water. Flirty truly wasn't his thing. "Tell her you need to see her," El instructed. "Tell her you can't stop thinking about her." She unmuted the call.

Peter couldn't find his voice. He muted the call again. "This is a test, isn't it?" he accused.

"Doctor, are you there?" Melissa said. El pointed at the phone.

Peter pressed the button again and, this time, did as El suggested. "Yeah. I need to see you. I can't stop thinking about you." El nodded, offering another smile of encouragement.

"Is that right?" Melissa asked. She was expecting an answer. Peter looked to Elizabeth and she put the call on mute once more.

"Okay, compliment her. Tell her that you've never met someone like her. You're intrigued." El was remarkably good at this, Peter noted. She pressed the button once more.

"I've never met someone like you… before. I'm intrigued."

"Well, I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss those magic hands of yours."

El's encouraging smile faded, and her brow furrowed. Peter muted the call quickly. "Magic hands?" El demanded.

"I was a chiropractor."

She crossed her arms. "Really?"

"Doctor?"

He pressed the button again, El now looking up at him in exasperation. "Yes," Peter managed.

"I've got to run," Melissa said, "but if you're really interested in seeing the clinic today, I can get you a pass. You could come by later, we could grab a drink."

"Perfect," Peter agreed. He didn't even say goodbye, just hung up immediately. Elizabeth was staring up at him, arms still crossed, eyebrow raised. "That was definitely a test."

Peter made his way to the clinic, with a promise to make that up to El later. He walked in, looking around as he headed toward the reception desk. "Can I help you?" the receptionist asked.

"Yeah..." He looked up toward the upper floors. Melissa was coming down the hallway quickly. "Oh, there she is. Melissa!"

She stopped in her tracks. "Dr. Tannenbaum." She started down the stairs. "You're early."

He moved to meet her on the stairs. "I couldn't wait to see you."

"Well, I'm flattered, but this really isn't a good time. If you don't mind waiting until this evening?"

He came to a stop in front of her. "I couldn't wait." She didn't get a chance to respond before her phone started ringing.

"Excuse me," she said, pulling her phone from her bag. While she was distracted, Peter took the opportunity to slip away, heading up the stairs and out of sight before she noticed.

He slipped quietly through the halls, peeking in doors for Nora. "Nora?" he called softly. "Nora?" As he wandered down an empty hallway, he started to hear a lovely, but lazy-sounding woman's voice singing.

"Two lover's kissed and the world stood still," it sang. "Still… Still~" Peter had never heard Nora sing before, but the voice certainly sounded like her. He followed it to a closed door. "Still, still." He opened the door.

Nora was strapped to a gurney. "That was nature's way," she sang.

"Oh, my God," Peter huffed. Her head lolled to the side, eyes half-lidded.

"High~ on a-" She noticed Peter suddenly and stopped singing mid-line.

"What did they do to you?" he muttered, caught somewhere between anger and pity toward her.

She smiled cheerfully. "Hey, buddy!" Her words slurred a little, as if she was drunk.

"Nora."

"Hi." She looked like she couldn't have been happier to see him.

"Hey," he sighed, peeking out the door to make sure the coast was clear before shutting it behind him. He rushed over to her, grabbing her gently on the top of her head, trying to get a look at her eyes.

"High~" she sang loudly in his ear.

"Hey," he hissed. "Shh, shh, shh." Her singing trailed off. "Alright, we have to get you out of these restraints."

"Oh, you mean these?" She lifted her arms and they fell away. She'd somehow already picked them, even in her delirious, drug-addled state. "What!" she said proudly. "Never met a lock I couldn't pick. Except my anklet."

"Alright, come on," he huffed, pulling her up by the arm.

"I don't know what it is abo-" She noticed she was being lifted. "You're strong."

"Yeah."

"You're strong." He tried helping her up. "I got it," she said, brushing him off weakly. "I got it."

"Yeah, come on," he prompted, not letting go.

"I got it," she insisted. As soon as she was on her feet, she face-planted, falling to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Peter sighed.

She didn't protest as he scooped her up into a bridal carry. She really didn't weigh all that much. Her head lolled against his shoulder as he moved as quickly as he could through the unfamiliar clinic halls. She muttered under her breath incoherently, switching between words and song at random.

He tried to shush her, but she wasn't paying much attention. Eventually, he found an empty conference room and sat her down. She flopped gracelessly onto the floor the second he stopped supporting her weight.

"Easy, come on," he sighed, grabbing her by the arm and heaving her into a sitting position against the wall. "I cannot believe you. Why would you do something like this?" It really wasn't the best time to be venting his frustration at her, or lecturing her. She was too out of it, but he couldn't help himself.

She groaned. "Oh, Peter, I've done so~ many worse things that you don't even know about," she protested.

"Just shut up." _Opportunity rarely comes knocking twice…_ "Like what things?"

She looked up at him, all cocky smiles. "You remember the Antioch Manuscripts?"

"You took those?" She just blinked, still grinning proudly. "How?"

"Carrier pigeons!" she giggled. Peter sighed. It was so simple, but so genius. He already knew he wasn't going to use that against her, but it was nice to know. She tapped her head with a finger. "Think about it. Who cares, Peter? It's not what's important. It's not about money. It's about people."

He wasn't sure what she was talking about anymore. "Good," he huffed. "Because you're going to be spending a lot of quality time with people in orange jumpsuits once I get you out of here."

"Right," she agreed, but her face fell. She looked so crestfallen, like a kicked puppy. If she wasn't so out of it, Peter would have called it an act to get sympathy. But considering how easily he'd just gotten her to confess to one of her crimes, he knew her acting ability had certainly taken a hit. "I'm going down once they see those security tapes of me breaking in here."

"There's surveillance cameras?"

She sighed, then looked up at him. She started jabbing a finger weakly at his chest. "Hey, before I go back, you should know this. Out of all the people in my life, Mozzie… even Kyle, you know? You're the only one."

Peter's brow furrowed. "The only one what?"

"You're the only person in my life I trust."

Her head slumped down against her chest, and the part of him that was sympathetic toward her started winning over the part that was cynical. She was so vulnerable, so defenseless. Peter realized that this was the only time he had ever seen her lower her mask completely. It may be the only time he would ever see it.

He placed a hand on top of her head gently and sighed, hand dropping to rest on her shoulder. He didn't want to see her hauled back off to prison. Some part of him felt the draw to protect her, to shield her from her own bad decision. He knew what he was going to do, stupid as it was.

He grabbed on of the office chairs from the conference table and wheeled it over to her. She rolled her eyes dramatically as he handcuffed her to it. "Don't pick this," he ordered her firmly. Not sure she was going to listen, he left her to find those damn security tapes.

He didn't have much trouble, surprisingly. It was easier than he expected to slip in and snag the tape without anyone noticing.

To his amazement, Nora was still on the floor, handcuffed to the chair where he left her when he returned several minutes later. She was back to singing that song, but her voice was soft, not drawing any attention.

He knelt down in front of her and held up the tape. "What is that?" she asked slowly.

"Surveillance tape."

She grinned as he pulled the handcuff key out of his pocket and started to uncuff her from the chair. "Peter?"

"Let's go." He hauled her up.

"You stole that for me?"

He scooped her up once more. "Yeah," he admitted. "It's a regular Kodak moment."


	22. Kidney Failure

Chapter Twenty-Two

Kidney Failure

How they got back to Peter's house was mostly a blur to Nora. Pretty much everything between then and when she was given the injection was a blur, to be honest. The first thing she remembered, as the injection began to wear off, was Peter and Elizabeth standing over her while she was spread out on the couch under a blanket with a cold compress on her forehead.

"Ah, my head is killing me," she groaned.

"Nora, are you alright?" Elizabeth asked, voice full of concern.

"Hey," Peter protested. "What about me?"

Elizabeth gave him a withering look. "There's some dishes that need to be washed, Mr. Magic Hands." She wondered if that was something she missed, or the injection making her not understand what they were talking about. Elizabeth turned back to Nora. "Do you want some more ice?"

Nora nodded and held the compress up to her. She took it. "Okay, I'll get some," she said softly. She glared at Peter again before heading for the kitchen.

Peter waited until Elizabeth was in the kitchen before he sat down on the coffee table. "You better have found something." He was so loud, each word was like a hammer to her skull. She knew pointing that out wouldn't help, so she tried to ignore it.

"I saw a list full of wealthy clients," she whispered excitedly. "All of them willing to pay for organs if the time comes."

"Be nice if we can prove it."

She blinked. "Maybe we can. There was another list. Hundreds of names and blood types."

Peter reached for a paper behind him. "Your fax." He held it up for her to see. Only a few names got through. "That's what this is."

"Yeah, they must be the donors Powell has been targeting. Only four names came through?"

"Four's enough," Peter decided. "We can talk to them."

Elizabeth returned with the ice and shooed Peter away, chiding him for bothering Nora while she didn't feel well. "Don't baby her," he protested. "She did this to herself."

She gave him a look that said, 'I'll baby her if I damn well please,' and Peter scurried off into the kitchen to do the dishes. Nora got the impression that their fight wasn't solely about her.

Elizabeth insisted Nora stay for dinner, and things seemed to be getting back to normal for the Burkes. After dinner, Nora was feeling much better. She attempted to convince them that she was perfectly fine, and would be fine at home, but Elizabeth was not buying it. Nora ended up staying the night once again.

* * *

Nora assured Peter she was well enough to go into work the next morning, and Elizabeth gave her the okay to do so. They got cracking on the four names on the list. Once they got their information together, Peter called the team in for a meeting.

"Powell doesn't get his donors from overseas," he explained. "He gets them from charity cases for Hearts Wide Open. Each one of these four donors passed through Powell's clinics for various treatments. Their blood types were then put on a master list, which Powell pulled from whenever a more affluent patient needed a transplant."

"Well then, what's his connection to Doctoral Global Initiative?" Jones asked. "Why so many trips to India?"

"Remember, Powell has nephrosis. He's only got one kidney and he needs a new one. Not just any one. A zero mismatch. Powell's been looking all over the world for this kidney. The money from this charity scam is what sponsored and financed his round-the-world search."

He glanced down at Nora, chewing on her lip again. Something was tumbling around in her head. Whatever it was, she didn't voice it yet. Jones spoke up again. "So the kidney donors that you guys tracked down, how much money did he offer them?"

"Ten thousand dollars each. But then he flipped them for two-hundred thousand." Eyes around the table grew wide. "We can't prove this, people," Peter admitted. "The donors won't testify. So I'm gonna need some out-of-the-box thinking from you guys on this one."

Nora's hand shot up like an overexcited school child who knew the answer in class. Peter glanced around. No one looked up at him or offered any suggestion. "Anyone?" he plead. Nora waved her hand more insistently. Peter sighed. "Alright, Caffrey, let's have it."

"If we can trace money Powell's made from his illegal organ sales, we can bring him down, right?"

"Right."

"So let's make him spend that money," she suggested simply.

"For what?" Jones asked.

She spun around to face him, eyes glittering. She had a lot of confidence in her plan, Peter realized. "The thing he wants most," she said. "Mind Googling something for me?"

Jones pulled out his laptop and pulled up Google. "What are the symptoms of kidney failure?" she asked.

He typed 'renal failure' as Nora and Peter moved to stand behind him. He clicked on the first result. "Uh, major symptoms include headaches, weight loss, skin irritation, chills, fatigue, and… Oh. Oh, that- that- that's not pretty."

Peter started pacing. "Alright, how many symptoms can we give him in a week?"

"Three should do it," Nora decided.

"Think that'll be enough?"

"Guy this worried about it, it'll be enough."

"Okay," Peter agreed. "What do we start with?"

"Let's see the workup on him," Nora suggested, and Jones pulled out the file.

He glanced over it. "Okay. I mean, one of the symptoms is headaches."

"We could swap his glasses," Peter said.

Nora shook her head, not looking up from the file. "I have a friend who wears glasses. Trust me, we swap them out, he'll know."

"Fatigue?" Peter tried.

"Weight loss," Nora decided. _We can't just make someone lose weight_. "According to his file, he dropped off a suit to have it dry-cleaned for an event this Tuesday night." She grinned. "The day before Powell's due in, we pick up his clothes and swap them out for a larger size. He'll think he's dropped a few pounds."

"When we have his clothes," Peter added, "we'll give him his second problem."

They brainstormed for a while, ordering Chinese takeout. Nora sat on the windowsill while she ate, legs criss-crossed in front of her like a kid.

"Skin irritation," Jones suggested suddenly.

"How do we do that?" she wondered.

Jones smirked. "Oh, we've got a spray.

Her brow furrowed. "You've got an itching spray?"

Peter chuckled. "We've got a lot of things you don't know about."

"Wow," she deadpanned. She eyed him suspiciously.

"What?" he protested.

She pointed her chopsticks at him. "You're really enjoying this."

"No," he scoffed. No one looked convinced. "Maybe… just a little." Everyone chuckled. Peter returned their attention to the problem at hand. "Third symptom."

"That's gotta be the best one," Nora said, hopping off the windowsill and taking a seat at the table.

Peter leaned on the table. "Jones, what did you say it was?"

Jones stopped mid-bite and turned the laptop toward Peter. "Blood in the urine."

"Wow," Peter muttered. "How are we gonna induce that?"

She shrugged. "Well, there are compounds," she said vaguely.

"Drugs?" Peter huffed, surprised she would suggest something like that. "No, no. No drugs."

"Not _drugs_," she amended, "so much as… food coloring for the body." He didn't even want to know why she knew about that.

"How do we make him take it?" he asked, starting to pace around the table.

"He gets his groceries delivered, right?" she asked. Jones confirmed.

"We can put it in his cranberry juice?" Peter suggested.

"Yeah. We inject it." She grinned the mischievous grin. "I know just the guy for the job."

"Let's say I go along with it," Peter mused. "Then what?"

"Then Powell gets the bad news. We give him a few days to stew before Doctor Lenore Parker gives him a call from India saying she found a match. He buys a plane ticket, but instead of getting on the plane, we knock him out and set something up so that he thinks he's in a hospital in India. I get him to confess, and we've got him.

"Okay," Peter said slowly, "how are we gonna knock him out?" They couldn't exactly bash him over the head.

"That won't be a problem," she assured him. "He takes sleeping pills before he flies."

* * *

They gave Powell his 'symptoms' and waited a few extra days for it to sink in before Nora made the call. "Yes?" he greeted on the first ring.

"Dr. Powell, can you hear me? It's Dr. Parker from DGI, remember?"

"I remember," he muttered.

"Good, good. Listen, I'm in India and I've got good news."

"Are you… are you saying that you have something for me?" he asked, voice starting to take a hopeful tone.

"I'm saying that you should buy a plane ticket right away." Nora hung up.


	23. India

Chapter Twenty-Three

India

Nora waited for Powell to wake up. She wore blue scrubs and fidgeted with her clipboard while she waited. Their set for a run-down hospital in India was very convincing. They even borrowed an agent from another division who's parents were from India, and who spoke the Hindi fluently.

She stood nearby, listening. Eventually, she heard Agent Bedi yelling at Powell in Hindi and took that as her cue. She walked in as Powell was turning to mess with the machine set up next to his bed. "Please don't touch that," Nora instructed. "The equipment here is very temperamental."

"What happened?" Powell demanded, sitting up and staring at her with wild eyes. Agent Bedi left them alone.

"You went into renal failure during your flight," she said softly. "You landed in Manipur. We had to remove your kidney and place you on dialysis. But your body isn't tolerating it. It's… Your blood pressure's dropping."

"Alright," he muttered. "Well, is the donor here?"

"He is," she assured him. "And he's curious about what kind of charitable contributions you can make to our clinic.

"That's not gonna be a problem," he insisted. "I can get you a hundred thousand by tomorrow."

She pursed her lips, cocking her head to the side and considering it for a moment. "Oh, well, I was thinking more along the lines of thirty million."

"_Thirty million_? Are you insane?"

Nora stared at him coldly. "How much is your life worth to you, doctor?"

"You're shaking me down?" he accused.

"I'm asking a question."

He closed his eyes, thinking. "I… I can… I don't know. I can get you two million."

She held his gaze firmly. "This isn't a negotiation." She turned, calling for Agent Bedi. The agent returned. Nora glanced back at Powell. "This machine should be free in the next few hours."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Powell stammered. "Wait, wait. Wait." Nora turned back to face him, arching an eyebrow expectantly. "I have an account. There's not thirty million in there, but it's close. Alright? I can have that money transferred anywhere you want."

"No," she decided. "That will raise flags." She turned to leave again.

"No no no," he protested. "This… This account… This is… It's completely secure." She waited. "What…? Alright. You know, it was set up to siphon money from my charity. It was designed to be untraceable. It's at New Reserve, seven-seven-four-one-nine-six-B. Password: cranberry."

Nora smiled sweetly. "Then I have what I want. Let's see how quickly we can get you healthy again." She and Agent Bedi turned to leave.

They met with Peter outside. All that was left was for Powell to realized that he wasn't actually in a hospital in India. It didn't take long, once they cut the power to the machine.

He stepped out onto the bustling New York street, dazed and confused. Before he could get very far, Peter, Nora, and three other agents came forward to greet him. Peter held up his badge. "Welcome back to New York, Dr. Powell."

Nora smirked, holding up her sheriff badge. Powell's face was one of defeat as they took him into custody.

* * *

Nora invited Peter to join her and June at Samantha's next soccer game. "June," Peter said, "I want you to know we got Powell." Nora smiled at the relieved look on the woman's face. "Once he tied himself to the charity's account, the rest of his operation came tumbling down."

"Thank you," she breathed, eyes growing misty.

"Tell her the best part," Nora prompted eagerly.

"Samantha is back at her original spot on the list." June buried her face in a hand, holding back happy tears. "In light of the scandal, we were able to make some calls to the Registry. Convince them to re-examine their position." With a smile, he turned to watch the game. "She's pretty good."

"Yeah, she is," Nora agreed.

"Let me know how the game turns out," he told her.

"Wait, aren't you staying?" June asked.

Peter shook his head. "Nope. I've gotta pick up my wife. She just doesn't know it yet." Nora grinned after him as he turned and headed away. June grabbed Nora around the middle and drew her in for a hug. They watched the rest of the game happily. Samantha scored a lot of goals, and her team won. The team was taken out for ice cream afterward to celebrate.

It was a happy ending, to be sure.

* * *

El was in a state of not quite being mad at Peter, but still not very happy with him. He planned a romantic evening for just the two of them to make it up to her. She sat at the table, working on the laptop as Peter dimmed the lights and placed two lit candles on the table.

"Hi, there," he said. "I couldn't help but notice you were sitting alone."

"Well, my husband's at work," she said, playing along. "It happens a lot."

"Hmm," he muttered, gently closing her laptop. "He must be good at his job."

She smirked. "Well, actually, his partner does a lot of the heavy lifting."

"Oh, really?" he scoffed. "If that's the case, I bet it's because your husband is distracted by thoughts of you."

"Interesting theory," she mused.

She was beginning to soften. He smiled. "I bet his favorite part of the day is coming home to that smile." She pursed her lips, trying to hide it, but failing. "Whoever he is, he's a lucky man."

She shook her head slowly. "I keep telling him that."

He held up two glasses and a bottle of wine. "You look thirsty."

El giggled. "So that line does work."

"Every time." He poured them each a glass. "By the way, I'm Dr. Tannenbaum. Chiropractor. I'm told… I have magic hands."

"Okay, now you're dead," she teased. They laughed, and he leaned in to kiss her. The wine sat forgotten on the table.


	24. An Old Friend

Chapter Twenty-Four

An Old Friend

It took a while, but Mozzie finally got a lead on the old friend Kyle had pointed Nora toward with the paper flower. Alex. Nora dressed to blend in, not drawing attention to herself. The last thing she wanted to do was scare Alex off. She chose gray slacks and a black sweater, paired with matching sunglasses and a black sunhat.

She held the paper flower as she scanned the crowd. It wasn't hard to find the right person. Alex was hard at work, preparing to pick some unfortunate man's wallet. _Old habits die hard_.

Nora moved in first, without Alex noticing, bumping into the mark. She lifted his wallet, swapping it carefully with a dummy, the paper flower tucked inside. Then she watched as Alex pulled the same trick, never even realizing Nora was there.

Alex moved away from the mark before checking out the score, Nora not far behind. The trick was discovered, and Alex spun around, eyes scanning the crowd until they locked on Nora with disdain.

Nora grinned and offered a light-hearted shrug. Alex hadn't changed much since the last time Nora saw her. She had dark brown eyes and dark brown hair with caramel colored highlights that fell in lose curls to the middle of her back. She smiled tightly at Nora and walked over slowly to see her.

"You telegraph your marks," Nora noted.

Alex sighed. "Four years in prison, and you're still the best." Nora laughed as Alex slouched against the handrail. "Show off."

Nora took a spot against the handrail next to her. "Miss me, Alex?"

"Never thought about it," she said nonchalantly. "You have something that belongs to me."

Nora pulled the wallet out of her pocket. "Actually, it, uh-" she flipped the wallet open. "It belongs to a guy named Joe Nelson." Nora looked at Alex incredulously as they traded wallets. "Come on. You're still running that trick?"

Alex smiled. "Small amusements to keep the day interesting." She pushed off of the railing and turned to face Nora directly, crossing her arms. "Now, what do you want, Caffrey?" Nora stood as well. Alex was just a tad taller than Nora was, without heels.

"I need your expertise." She pulled out a picture and handed it over. "On this."

"The music box," Alex sighed. "You're finally admitting you never had it?"

Nora ignored the jab. "You got closer than anyone else."

"We got closer," Alex amended. "But that didn't work out."

Nora shrugged. "Maybe it will this time."

Alex handed the photo back. "Sorry. I can't help you. I gave up on that a long time ago."

"Yeah?" Nora asked. Alex nodded. She pulled out a small trinket she lifted from Alex's bag. "Then why do you still carry this in your purse?" Nora held up the little golden cherub. "It's a piece from the box, right?"

Alex took the cherub back, shaking her head in disbelief at Nora, but she was still smiling. "Know your mark, remember?" Nora told her.

"Don't fault me for nostalgia," Alex protested. "I couldn't bring myself to part with it. I don't know anything more about the music box."

Nora didn't believe that, but she let it go for the time being, offering the paper flower to Alex. "My number's in here." Alex just stared at it. "In case." Reluctantly, she took it. "Good to see you, Alex." It wasn't a lie. Once upon a time, she and Alex had been very close friends, but Nora had long since considered that bridge burned. But, maybe it wasn't quite as burned as she originally thought.

Alex didn't say anything, just watched as Nora turned to leave with that same tight smile as before.

* * *

Another day, another case. Summer was slowly but surely inching away in the couple weeks following the Powell case. Peter went to relieve Lauren and Jones, who sat staking out a house in the Municipal Utilities van. "Shift change, boys and girls," he announced as he stepped inside. "What's happening?"

"Not unusual," Jones noted. "Couple house keepers and staff coming in and out."

Peter studied the monitor for a moment. "Our insider trader do any insider trading?"

"Oh," Lauren scoffed, "he's been a little too preoccupied to make any calls. Rewind the tape, Jones."

Jones did so with a smirk and Peter watched as Mr. Gray helped an unknown woman out of a taxi and led her inside. "That doesn't look like Mrs. Gray."

"Bought himself a nooner with a younger version," Lauren joked.

"How do you know he's paying for it?" Jones asked. "Maybe it's true love?" He couldn't keep a straight face.

"Seriously?" Lauren asked flatly. "A guy that old with a girl that young? He's buying her with something."

"When was this?" Peter asked.

"Oh, forty minutes ago," Jones guessed.

Peter's next comment died on his tongue as a loud _pop_ filled the air. "Was that on tape?" Peter asked. Lauren and Jones sat up immediately, all jokes aside.

"That was a gunshot," Jones realized

"Shots fired," Peter huffed. "Lauren, call up the ops center. Request immediate backup. Move in, move in." He and Jones burst from the van and headed for the Gray household. Lauren was soon behind them after calling for backup.

Peter stepped through the door first, gun drawn. "FBI!" he called loudly, his voice echoing slightly. They cleared the downstairs and Peter headed up slowly, Jones and Lauren covering his back.

"I got a body," he called, seeing Mr. Gray sprawled out on the floor. "It's Gray." He made his way over an overturned planter, careful not to disturb the scene. He checked for a pulse; there was none.

There was a soft whimpering coming from somewhere behind him and Peter spun, training his gun on a woman who crouched behind a sofa. "Let me see your hands." She stood slowly, hands raised in front of her. Her cheeks were stained with tear-streaked makeup.

"He… he ran out that door right over there," she told him, voice trembling, pointing to a door on the opposite side of the room.

"Got footprints going out the door," Jones confirmed.

"Keep your hands where I can see them," Peter instructed as he holstered the gun. He turned his attention to Lauren. "Backup on the way?"

"Yeah. NYPD should be here in a second."

"Jones, check the upstairs," Peter ordered. Lauren moved to go to the woman and helped her to her feet. "Tell NYPD we're pursuing a male suspect, armed and dangerous."

Peter pulled off his jacket as Lauren led the woman over to him. He noticed red, swollen bump on her back as he draped the jacket over her shoulders. "Alright," he said softly. "Have a seat."

"It's clear upstairs," Jones' voice called.

The woman was still crying, her lip trembling. "Tell me your name," Peter said.

"Pierce."

Peter nodded. "Pierce, can you tell me what happened?" The sound of sirens started filling the air.

Her eyes were a million miles away. "Uh, he was hiding in the room when we came inside. Then the gun fired. It happened so quickly."

"Then the man went out the door?" She nodded.

"Alright. Alright." Peter turned to Lauren. "I want you to escort her to the hospital with NYPD for review." Officers had arrived on scene and made their way upstairs. "Try to get a description of this guy."

Lauren led Pierce away, and Peter addressed the officers. "Okay, people. Let's round up the staff. I wanna talk to every single person who's been in this house today." He sighed, staring around the crime scene, hands on his hips. "Jones. Find me Caffrey."

Murder, as she loved to remind him, was not her area of expertise, but Peter got the sinking suspicion that there was something to all of this that he wasn't seeing. Maybe she could fill in the blanks.


	25. Of Fake IDs and Cheap Hotels

Chapter Twenty-Five

Of Fake IDs and Cheap Hotels

The meeting with Alex could have gone a lot worse, Nora decided as she roamed through the city streets, considering the last time Nora saw her hadn't exactly had a happy ending. But, if there was one thing Nora knew about Alex, it was that she always came back to the music box. It was her white whale; she'd been looking for it as long as Nora had known her.

As she walked, Nora's phone started to ring. "Hey, Caffrey," Jones' voice greeted when she picked up. "You busy?"

"Not particularly, though I don't think it would matter much if I was, would it?"

Jones chucked. "No, probably not. Peter wants you to come take a look at a crime scene we're at." He read off an address. Nora heard in the background a voice calling Jones' name. "Look, I gotta go. Peter will explain when you get here." He hung up, leaving Nora somewhat confused.

With a sigh, she made her way toward the address Jones gave her. The front door was crossed with crime scene tape, and an NYPD officer stood outside keeping guard. "Sorry, miss," he said as she approached, "I can't let you in. This is a crime scene."

With a smile, she dug her consultant ID card out of her purse. "I'm with the FBI."

He squinted a little as he read over it. "Right," he said slowly. "That agent said you were coming. I think they're all still upstairs." He stepped aside to let her pass, ducking under the tape.

Nora pulled off her hat and sunglasses as she took in the elegant décor of the house. She headed up the stairs, spying several more officers and a few familiar agents milling about, including Peter. As she rounded the railing to get to Peter, her eyes fell on a white sheet on the floor. Red splotches bloomed through the sheet in a few places, and a pair of shoes stuck out from one end.

Nora stopped dead, heart beginning to beat rapidly in her chest. She looked to Peter, eyes wide. "That's a dead body."

"Yup."

She shifted uncomfortably, fighting to keep her breathing even. "This doesn't really fall under my area of expertise, Peter," she reminded him. "Murder isn't an intellectual pursuit and I'm not really a dead guy kind of girl, so I'm gonna go."

She started for the stairs. "You got a lot of rules for a girl who doesn't play by them," Peter teased.

"Yeah..."

"Aldys Christopher Gray," Peter continued. Nora stopped, turning back to him. "Heard of him?"

"Yeah," she admitted, suddenly a bit more intrigued. "Stock trader. Made a killing in derivatives right before the crash." But that wasn't what Nora was most interested in. "He has quite the art collection. Maybe this is my area of expertise."

Then she remembered the dead body on the floor, eyes falling on it once more. She moved across the room to look around. "What's with the hat?" Peter asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What, a girl can't accessorize?"

"The only time I've ever seen you wear a hat was when you disguised yourself on the run."

She rolled her eyes, studying a painting on the wall. "Yeah, well, don't read too much into it."

He let it go. "We've been sitting on him for three weeks," Peter explained, returning to the case. "Today, he comes home with a woman, possibly an escort. Somebody takes a shot at him. By the time we get here, he's dead, the killer is gone."

"So what am I doing here?"

"Something's off," Peter huffed. "What's wrong with this picture?"

Nora bit her lip. "Where's the witness?"

"She's in shock. Had bruises all over her," Peter explained as Nora pulled a pair of rubber gloves out of a forensics kit on the floor. "Lauren traveled with her to the hospital with NYPD."

"Walk me through it, Sherlock," she said, pulling the gloves on with a snap.

"Yeah, alright. The witness says the shooter was already inside."

Nora stooped to look at a bag discarded on the floor, yellow evidence markers placed around it. "This the girl's purse?" She peeked inside.

"She and Gray came in. There was a struggle. Shots were fired." Peter crossed over to the body. "Gray ends up here." Nora pulled the girl's ID out of the bag and studied it, worrying her lip again. Pierce Spelman, from Vancouver, thirty-three years old. _Hmm, I wonder_... "Now, I- Are you paying attention?" he snapped.

"Yeah, yeah," she brushed him off. "I can multitask."

"Alright," Peter continued. "So the witness was doubled up over here in this corner." Nora returned to the forensics kit and pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol as Peter moved to where the witness had been. "She said that they struggled and then the guy went out the door."

Nora spied a silver tray on a vanity and started pouring the rubbing alcohol in it. "I entered and then I-" Peter cut off, noticing what she was doing. "I'm sorry, am I boring you?"

"One second," she muttered. She dipped the ID in the rubbing alcohol for a moment before pulling it out and giving it a shake. _Just as I thought_. "It's a fake."

"What?"

"The ink hasn't had time to fully dry," she said as he looked over her shoulder. The letters smeared due to the rubbing alcohol. "But this is high-end work, Peter. You can't just get this on the street."

Peter took it, brow furrowed. "No, you can't," he agreed. "Jones."

"Yeah?"

"Run indices on Pierce Spelman. And call Lauren. I wanna see if we can get her real name off of Pierce. Her ID is a fake."

"Copy that," Jones agreed, pulling out his phone and pacing away.

Now realizing that Pierce wasn't who she claimed to be, Peter's eyes caught on an overturned potted plant that had several shoe prints tracked through the dirt. He crouched down next to the body. "She used his shoe to make in impression in the dirt," he realized, pointing out dirt stuck on the bottom on Gray's shoe. "She's not a witness, she's the shooter."

"Agent Burke," Jones called, hurrying back up the stairs.

"No one else was in the room," Peter added.

Peter turned his attention on Jones. "Nurses at the hospital took Pierce in for a private exam," he explained. "Left her alone to undress. She slipped out the back. She's gone." Peter sighed heavily, pushing himself back up. They had practically let their killer walk out the door.

* * *

Peter struggled his way out of the elevator the next morning, laden with dufflebags. He squeezed past another agent through the glass door, shoulders beginning to cramp and ache under the weight. "You're late," Nora noted from her desk, stopping Peter in his tracks. "You're never late." She eyed his bags in confusion.

He sighed, shifting one of the bags on his shoulder. "Rough morning," he admitted. "I had to take the subway in. You know how hard it is to rush when carrying this many bags?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Did Elizabeth kick you out?"

"No," he snapped.

"Then why the bags?"

"You ask too many questions." He headed for the stairs. "Lauren, are you looking up that stuff?"

"On it," she assured him.

"Jones," he continued, starting up the stairs. "You any closer to finding our missing girl?"

"We don't have much to go in," Jones admitted. "Fake name, no match for the prints found in the room." He shrugged. "All we got is a purse. We'll get that from ERT this afternoon."

"Alright, stay on it. I want a briefing as soon as it gets here."

As promised, the purse came back from ERT later in the day. "Here we go," Jones said, setting a box down on the table and beginning to pull things out. He was cut off by Lauren entering the room with a stack of papers

"Your options," she announced, handing him the first paper off the stack.

Nora read over his shoulder. "Hotel rooms? Peter, what did you do?" she accused.

He rolled his eyes. "We're upgrading our wiring system," he explained. "Getting the whole HD surround sound put in. El took the dog and the car to her sister's, upstate. Good news is, once this is all in place, I can watch the game once the power is back on."

"How long will it be out?" Jones asked.

"Couple days, hence the hotel." He flipped through the paper in his hand.

"Thompson Hotel," Lauren explained. "You said you wanted a big TV, they have the biggest."

"How much is this?"

"Eight hundred and twenty-five dollars a night. With our government discount."

He dropped the paper. "Next."

Nora rolled her eyes. "Peter, it's ridiculous for you to stay in a hotel when there's more than enough room at June's."

"Right," he scoffed. "El would love that. No thanks. I'll be fine." He started flipping through another packet from Lauren's stack. "This one has a pool. I never had a pool."

"$425 a night." Jones whistled and the second paper dropped to the table.

He took the remaining papers from Lauren. "Let's go to the bottom," he decided. The bottom of the pile was a pamphlet that said 'Empire Hotel' across the top. "Ah, here we go. That one?"

"Fifty-nine bucks."

"Book it."

"Already did."

Jones raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that the place where you put Nora when she was first released?"

Peter nodded. "They have an interesting no-heat policy," she said dryly.

"I don't need amenities," Peter said with a pointed look. Just because she was a big baby didn't mean Peter was. "Just give me a wall, a TV, and a bed, and I'm happy."

She looked at him incredulously. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"Peter, mi casa es su casa."

"Su casa is not even su casa," he reminded her. Peter turned his attention to the case before she had a chance to protest. "Jones, what do we have?" Peter and Nora took a seat.

"Okay," Jones said, motioning to the individually bagged items from the purse that he's pulled out of the box while they talked about hotels. "These are the items from the woman's purse. Name on the ID is Pierce Spelman. The card's a fake." Of course, they already knew that. "No record of her prints. We found the gun stuffed inside the fireplace, wiped of prints, serial number filed off."

"Whoever she is, she's good," Nora allowed.

Jones handed her one of the bags. "That looks like a to-do list."

"Verify pie," she read, "spike RN." Peter read over her shoulder. None of the other entries made any more sense. 'Elixir PF,' 'check pew' which was checked off, and 'gather ML.'

"That's an odd list of activities," he mused.

"It's a code," she decided.

Peter took it from her and passed it off to Jones. "Get this to the crypt analyst and then back to me. I gotta go check into my hotel."

He stood to leave. "Uh, no no no," Nora called after him, "_mo_tel. Motel with an M." He ignored her.


	26. Scrabble

Chapter Twenty-Six

Scrabble

Nora swiped the list from evidence and spent that evening at the table with a Scrabble board and a note pad, trying to crack the code. She was engrossed in the process of running through possibilities when a knock on the door pulled her back to reality.

"Yup, I'm coming," she called as the person knocked again.

She'd just barely pulled the door open before Alex pushed her way in. "You're a bitch," she huffed before Nora had the chance to get a word out.

Nora smirked. "Sure, come on in."

"I looked into you, Caffrey," she said, eyes scanning over everything methodically. She sat her purse on a chair at the table. "Know your mark, right?"

"Yeah," Nora agreed.

"You've turned fed?" she spat. Nora figured Alex was going to figure it out; there was really no use trying to talk out of it.

Nora shrugged. "I was forced fed."

Alex began pacing around slowly. "That's funny, Nora." She stepped out onto the balcony, taking in the view of the city. "I know it's been a while, but it's still my job to dig up confidential information."

"Occupational hazard?" Nora guessed as Alex came back in and took a look at the bookshelf.

She turned back to Nora pointedly. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

"It was a small hope," Nora sighed. Alex crossed her arms, looking expectantly at Nora. "Okay. Okay, every now and again they go after some Madoff-type guy and ask me how he did it. Other than that, I barely communicate with them."

"Then why the anklet?" she asked, motioning down to Nora's leg.

"They don't like me much. They use the anklet to track me remotely so they don't have to deal with me in person," she lied.

Alex held her eyes for a moment. "Are you trying to set me up?"

"I'm trying to get something we both want." Alex narrowed her eyes, considering it. "What did you find, Alex?"

* * *

Peter discovered very quickly that the picture in the brochure was exactly nothing like the actual room. The room was grubby and smelled of ancient tobacco smoke and body odor. The sheets on the bed were spotted with miscellaneous stains and Peter felt like he was going to get infested with bedbugs just looking at it.

And, worst of all, where the TV should have been was just a fixture on the wall with a few lose wires hanging down. He sighed heavily. Nora had been right; the place was awful. "Motel with an M," he repeated. "No TV."

Inexplicably, a dog raced in through the open door, barking at him as it took a place on the bed. Peter stared at it, bewildered. "Somebody lose a dog?" he called down the hallway, but no one answered. He reached slowly toward the dog, but it started growling at him, then barking loudly as his hand drew near. Peter jumped back. Slowly, he backed out of the room.

_Su casa es mi casa_, he decided.

* * *

Nora convinced Alex to take a seat at the table and got them each a drink. It felt like old times, almost, except Alex stared at her with skeptical eyes and put every word out of her mouth under a microscope.

"Why the sudden curiosity about the box?" she asked.

"I couldn't look for it in prison, but I'm out now." she lied. Well, it wasn't _really _a lie in that what she said was factually true. Peter would tell her that was splitting hairs, and that she was still lying. "And, I was starting to miss you. I felt bad about how things went down last time I saw you."

Alex rolled her eyes. "Nice try." She pulled the gold cherub out of her bag. "I tracked down the fence who gave me this. He says there's been a sudden interest in the box."

Nora's eyes widened a little. "Does he know who has it?" she breathed.

She shook her head. "He still won't tell me how he got this."

"We have to find it before someone else does."

Alex narrowed her eyes. "What's going on? This isn't just about the box." Alex was quick, of course she could put two and two together. Before Nora had the chance to answer, there was another knock at the door. "You get a lot of late-night visitors," she mused.

"Yeah, it's probably just my landlady." Or, at least, Nora _hoped_ it was just June. "Who is it?" she called.

"Peter." _Of course. Why _wouldn't_ Peter show up at the worst possible moment_?

"Ooh, new boyfriend?"

"No, he's… he's just a friend," Nora sighed. "But he _cannot_ know you're here about the music box. And we need a cover."

Alex grabbed the two glasses of wine and the bottle before heading over to the couch and pulling a couple books off the bookshelf. "How's a girl's night sound?"

"Works as well as anything."

"Nora?" Peter called.

"Coming." Alex took a seat, opening her book to a random spot as Nora moved to let Peter in. She pulled the door open just a crack. "What's up, buddy? What are you doing here?"

Peter pushed past her, the same bags from that morning slung over his shoulders. "Oh man, I am so sorry for barging in, but I-" He noticed Alex's coat and purse on the table and spun around. Alex peered up from her book, sipping on her glass of wine. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No, it's fine," Nora said casually. "We were just finishing up anyway. Girl's night, you know?"

Alex sat her glass and book down on the coffee table and stood. "Are you a friend of Nora's?"

"You can say that, yes." Alex smiled, now standing between Nora – still holding the door open – and Peter. He held out his hand to her. "Peter Burke."

"How do you two know each other?"

Peter glanced up at Nora, who started making a cutting motion across her throat. 'No FBI,' she mouthed. He smirked. "I'm an FBI agent." Nora thew her arms up in exasperation, pushing the door closed with a small slam. "How's it going?"

"FBI," Alex repeated, smiling tightly. "Interesting." Peter turned to shoot Nora a confused look, but she sighed and brushed him away.

Alex shrugged into her jacket. "It's been great catching up, Nora."

"Hey, don't leave on account of me," Peter protested.

"Oh, no no no," she said with a hard look at Nora. "We're done here." She grabbed her bag from where she sat it on the chair and turned to leave, still looking pointedly at Nora. With a silent sigh, Nora opened the door for her and watched her go.

"Nice girl," Peter noted once Nora closed the door behind her.

"Yeah," she agreed. "She's an old friend."

"Not the kind of old friend who's gonna get you into trouble, I hope," he said with a chuckle. He dropped his bags on the floor and started milling around.

"Are you gonna lecture me about peer pressure now?" Nora asked dryly.

"Maybe." He wandered over to the bookshelf and spotted the mini chess board that she'd been playing against the mystery postcard person on. "Who you playing?" He moved one of the pieces.

"Don't touch that," she snapped. He moved it back. "What are you doing here? What happened to the hotel?"

"_Mo_tel," he corrected. "And it was occupied."

"Oh, dog staying there?" she guessed.

"Yeah, what's with the dog?"

She shrugged. "Now you understand why I was forced to seek other accommodations."

"Mm," he agreed. "Lucky for us."

She stared at him blankly. "Us?"

"Yeah. Su casa es mi casa, right?" He grinned. "Right?"

"Right," she sighed.

"Yes!" He took Alex's spot on the couch. "Oh, I just got hungry. Where's the remote?" He started looking around for it.

Nora sighed. "This is gonna be really fun." She grabbed her glass off the table and took a long drink. _Maybe I should stop trying to be s__o nice_.

Peter ordered a pizza and put on the game. He had the volume up so loud, she could barely hear herself think as she nibbled on her slice, sitting silently to the side as he cheered and stomped his feet. After dinner, she excused herself to go take a shower to get away from the noise.

She reveled in the hot water longer than she normally would have before reluctantly getting out and changing into her pajamas. By the time she returned the living room, the game had thankfully ended. She showed Peter to the guest room and left him to his own devices as she got ready for bed.

* * *

She rolled out of bed well-rested the next morning, almost forgetting that Peter had been there at all. It was chilly, and she pulled on a robe as she made her way to the table. Her eyes fell on the scrabble board that she'd left there from the night before. The tiles were moved.

Peter's voice drifted in from the balcony. "When asked, he quoted that he and the cow had been friends for years," he read off a newspaper.

"No," June laughed, enjoying breakfast with the agent. "The cow?"

"Yes."

June dropped her voice down low. "But Nora never does this with me."

"No, I know. I know." _Sure, just keep talking about me as if I'm not standing right here_.

Nora put on a chipper smile. "Morning," she greeted.

"Morning," Peter returned.

"Did you sleep okay?"

Peter took a sip of coffee. "Oh, I could get used to this." _Please don't._

"You're in my chair."

Peter blinked. "Oh, I didn't see your name on it." _This is payback for the cereal thing, isn't it_?

Nora pushed down the annoyance the bubbled in her chest and cast a glance back to the kitchen table. "You guys playing Scrabble?"

"Sort of," June said vaguely.

Peter sat down his newspaper and held up a familiar slip of paper. The code list. "We're trying to figure out what this means."

"Really?"

"I've seen a code once or twice in my life," June added. "We were playing with shift ciphers."

"Yeah," Nora snorted, as if she hadn't already thought of that. "Glad you're having fun." Feeling unwelcome on her own patio, Nora returned inside to get some breakfast of her own.

She heard Peter sigh behind her. "We should get her a banana or something."

"I think so," June agreed. "Yes." Nora's eye twitched.

June and Peter finished up as Nora was pouring herself a glass of orange juice. After wishing June a good day, Peter came in and stood at the table, looking down at the Scrabble board. "This is the actual list, isn't it?" he asked. "You stole from evidence."

"Borrowed," she corrected, "okay? I made a copy for you guys." Peter rolled his eyes. "It doesn't matter. I tried key words, anagrams, Charlemagne's cipher, Rohans, everything."

Peter was looking over her notes. "Aldys Gray," he said. "You spelled his name wrong. Aldys is spelled with a Y."

"What?" Spelling mistakes were so unlike her. She moved to look where Peter indicated on the paper. Sure enough, she'd made a mistake. She read back over the notes, taking into account the spelling error. "It's a shift code hidden in an anagram," she realized.

"Alright, there are five items on the list," she muttered, grabbing a pen. Shift the alphabet four by five letters. A becomes E, B becomes F…." She wrote it out. "Reassemble. Check pew becomes Aldys Gray."

"It's a list of names," Peter said.

"A hit list."

"The dead guy's fourth down. Let's find out who's next."

* * *

Nora ate a quick breakfast, charged her anklet while Peter watched the morning news, and excused herself to go get ready. After Peter complained about her taking too long, they finally got to the car and headed for the office.

Lauren was waiting for them as they stepped onto the twenty-first floor. "Morning," she greeted. "Crypt analyst called."

"Shift code hidden in an anagram," he said, beating her to the punch.

"She called you too?" Lauren guessed.

Peter fished the paper from Nora unscrambling the list from his pocket. "No, but I need you to pull these names ASAP."

"Nice," Lauren mused, heading back to her desk to do as Peter asked.

"Hey, Peter," Jones called from behind them. "How was the hotel?"

Peter shot a look at Nora. "Fine," he lied. "Loud. A bed's a bed, you know?" He motioned for her to not say anything. She nodded in agreement.

And immediately spun around to face Jones. "Peter stayed at my place," she admitted pointedly. "He couldn't handle the motel."

Peter rolled his eyes. _Now you opt to tell the truth?_ "I could handle the motel," he insisted. "I just prefer tormenting you."

"Mm-hmm," she muttered, not buying it. She headed up the stairs, but Peter stayed behind.

"Jones," he said, grabbing the other agent's arm gently as he tried to follow after Nora. "Do me a favor." He pulled a baggie with a Scrabble piece out of his jacket pocket. "I want you to run prints on this. See if we can find out who they belong to."

"Keep it quiet?" Jones asked.

"Yeah." Nora's 'old friend' had touched the piece the night before, moving tiles to spell out the word 'fed.' Peter got the impression that she was someone he needed to keep an eye on before she pulled Nora into doing something stupid. Nora didn't need any more help getting herself into trouble; she did that enough on her own as it was.


	27. Dan

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Dan

"So the first two guys on the cracked code list," Lauren explained once they were settled in the conference room, "are Earl Bauen, an oil guy from Texas, and John Elga from LA. Both shut up real quick when I sent over Pierce's picture. Swore they never laid eyes on her."

"They're married?" Nora guessed.

"Yup." Lauren turned back to the board she'd set up with photos of the men. "Third guy is Ben Thalen. He's a real estate titan from New Jersey. Two months ago, he claims he was shot during a hunting accident." She showed them a picture of a gun that was most certainly not one used for hunting.

"With a Seecamp .32 ACP," Peter noted, amused. "That's a good hunting weapon."

"I'm guessing he never met Pierce either," Nora added.

"Right," Lauren confirmed. "Speaking of Pierce, we found a set of fingerprints that we think are hers." She passed them pictures of the crime scene. "We highlighted the areas where she touched."

"She's searching for something," Nora realized. "Her prints are all over the drawers and around the paintings. Maybe looking for a safe."

"You think she's robbing them?" Lauren asked.

Peter shook his head. "Then why didn't she take his wallet or any of the valuables in plain sight?" No one had an answer. "This list is precise," he continued. "She's looking for something specific."

"Yeah," Nora agreed, "she's smart. Appeals to their greatest weakness to get in the door, then takes what she needs."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you'd do?"

"Maybe," she said vaguely.

"But why shoot Thalen and kill Gray?" Lauren asked.

"Pierce had bruises on her back, right?" Peter recalled. Lauren nodded. "She couldn't have done that to herself."

"What, do you think Gray walked in mid-theft?" Nora guessed.

Peter flipped open a file. "Yeah, preliminary tox screens on Gray reveal a mild barbiturate in his system. She probably drugged him and then went looking for what she's after."

"Yeah," Nora continued. "He woke up. They struggled. She pulled a gun."

"She's not afraid to kill if she has to," Peter mused. "Who's next on the list?"

"Last one's a local," Lauren explained. "Fifth and last and single." She handed Peter another file. "Daniel Picah. He's a trust-fund baby. Family left him a mess of money."

The picture in the file showed a smiling young man with nerdy looking glasses. He had the look of someone sheltered and entirely too trusting, if Nora had to guess. A girl like Pierce would eat him right up. He was practically the perfect mark for a woman looking to rob him blind.

"Wonder what he has that's so appealing?" Nora muttered.

"Whatever it is could get him killed," Peter added. "Is he talking?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Lauren said lightly.

* * *

Lauren gave Peter the address, and he and Nora headed that way. He lived in a luxury apartment building. They rode the elevator up to the penthouse suite. "We should talk to June about getting an elevator," Peter joked as they stepped out.

"Didn't think you were staying that long," she said dryly. Peter smirked a little to himself. Even though it had been her idea to begin with, she'd been sour about the whole thing, ever since he scared off her 'old friend.' She made no great effort to hide her disdain for the whole situation, and Peter couldn't help but pick at her at every opportunity.

The furnishings in Daniel Picah's apartment were expensive, but somewhat mismatched. Everywhere Peter looked, some expensive antique or piece of art was proudly displayed, with no cohesive theme that he could discern.

"Hey!" a friendly voice called, coming down the stairs. "FBI guys." Peter cast a glance at Nora, and saw her roll her eyes. "How's it going?"

"I'm Agent Peter Burke," Peter introduced. "This is Nora Caffrey."

"Not _Agent_ Nora Caffrey?" Daniel asked.

"Consultant," Peter clarified.

"Well, what do you consult on?"

Nora shrugged. "Frauds, forgeries, cons." Nora wandered away to look at one of Daniel's display pieces.

Daniel laughed a little nervously. "How's a girl like you know about stuff like that?"

"Hah," Nora snorted, and Peter saw the tightness in her smile. "Years of hands-on experience."

"You like that statue?" Daniel asked. "Don't worry, it's real."

Peter walked over and took a look at the statue Nora was studying. She looked irritated. "He uses a Boas Vaadia bust as a hat rack." She sounded like she was personally offended by this. "Do you know how much this bust is worth?"

"I paid four-fifty for that," Daniel injected.

Her eye twitched. "I can't be here." Peter grabbed her arm as she attempted to retreat back toward the elevator.

"Mr. Picah," Peter said.

"Hey, we're friends," Daniel insisted. "Call me Dan."

"Okay, Dan," Peter amended. "Have you been in contact with any beautiful women recently."

Dan's eyes flicked over to Nora quickly. "Sure," Dan scoffed. "It's New York. I'm dating all the time. Why? What's going on?"

Peter pulled out the photo of Pierce. "Well, have you been in touch with her?"

He studied the picture. "No, but she's pretty. Should I be in touch with her?"

Nora sighed. "We think she might be after something you own. Something..." She looked around. "Rare."

"Awesome. I got tons of stuff. What do you think she wants?"

"We were hoping you could tell us," Peter admitted.

Daniel thought, glancing around. "Maybe it's my sword," he mused, moving over to yet another display piece. "It's a Go Yoshihiro, Japanese. Thirteenth century. Cost me $220,000, if you can believe that. I love history."

His eyes locked on Nora. "Do you like history?" Nora just nodded once, stiffly, and wandered away to look at more of Daniel's stuff. "Silent type. I get it." He looked back at Peter. "You ever pull your weapon?" he asked softly.

"Yeah."

His voice dropped to a whisper. "You shoot anybody?"

"I've come close a few times." Peter walked over to where Nora was pacing about. "Hey, we gotta move this along."

"Are you not standing in the same space I am?" she snapped. "Peter, it could be anything. All of this is valuable and completely incoherent." Peter sighed. He'd never really seen her so riled up.

Daniel moved toward the staircase. "You guys wanna see the rest of the place?" he offered.

Nora looked at Peter desperately. "No," she breathed, "I really don't."

"But we have to," he reminded her just as quietly. She closed her eyes, looking utterly defeated. He clapped her on the shoulder, voice back to normal volume. "Let's go, Moriarty." He looked back to Daniel. "Yeah, that'd be great." They started up the stairs

"Awesome. I got four floors, so let's start at the top." Nora glared at Peter as if she might object, but he just gave her a firm shove on the back and a look that said, 'cowboy up.'


	28. The Jade Elephant

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Jade Elephant

Nora was glad to be home. They spent what felt like an eternity looking over Daniel's ridiculously expensive mishmash collection of art and antiques. Every floor made Nora more and more angry. Statues strewn with laundry, antique furniture topped with coasters, manuscripts haphazardly stuffed into bookshelves. The art lover inside of her wanted to scream.

On top of that, there was Daniel's clumsy, overt attempts at flirting. He was truly very bad at it. One part of her felt kind of bad for him; he was trying so hard. The other part – the part that was enraged about his art collection – felt nothing but contempt for him. By the time they left, Nora was in a very sour mood. Peter thought the whole thing was kind of amusing.

To calm herself down, Nora decided doing her nails was just what the doctor ordered. She spread out at the kitchen table and got to work. Peter, who had been watching the news, crinkled his nose and glanced over at her.

"Do you have to do that at the table?" he asked.

She stopped mid-stroke, glaring over at him. "Excuse me?"

"It's just the smell," he explained. "Do you have to do that in here?"

"I'm sorry," she said dryly. "I forgot whose home we were in."

He shrugged sheepishly. "Right. Sorry." She continued painting her nails. After a few minutes, Peter excused himself, deciding he was going to go to the gym. _Good riddance_.

After her nails were done, she decided to look into some history of Dan's art collection. That got boring, and proved to be of no help, so Nora took Peter's absence as an opportunity to look a little bit more into the music box. She pulled out a book with some of the box's history and started reading.

She hadn't been paying attention to the time. Darkness had already fallen over the city when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. _Peter_, she guessed. She tucked the book under the couch cushion and scrambled to pick up a different book.

"Hey," she greeted casually as Peter stepped in. He was still in his gym clothes, sweat staining through his shirt, holding a basketball.

"Hey." He started for the refrigerator. "Want a beer?"

"Oh, we don't have any beer."

"Oh, I got some," he corrected. "I got us a whole case." She stared, bemused, as he pulled a can out of the fridge. He flopped down on the couch next to her with a tired sigh. She crinkled her nose as the smell of sweat reached her.

"You're sweating," she told him.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, this is a nice couch. I don't want-"

He cut her off. "Yeah, it's comfy." He reached for the remote and turned on the TV, finding a game he wanted to watch and picking up a file from the coffee table.

"I'm reading here," she said pointedly. "I'm doing some research."

"Yeah, so am I," he said, pointing at his file. "I'm reading and researching and listening. I'm multitasking."

_How can one person be so infuriating_? she wondered. _This is my home, dang it_. She snatched the remote and muted the TV. "What are you doing?" Peter protested. She ignored him, returning to her book. "I- No, no. When I'm in _my_ home, I listen to the game and I look at my case files."

"Too bad we're not in your home," she said dryly.

"Well, yeah, the power's still off," he reminded her. "So we'll have to hear it." He unmuted the TV.

She stared at him in disbelief. What gave him the right? She drew in a deep breath. "Alright, I'm going downstairs."

"Why?"

"I'm going downstairs. I can't think. It's too loud. Why should you have to follow my rules in my house?" she muttered.

"Alright," Peter sighed. _Unbelievable_. She closed the door loudly behind her.

* * *

Driving Nora out had been too easy. He'd noticed very quickly how upset she got when things weren't exactly the way she was used to them. All Peter had to do was be a bit more obnoxious than he normally would have been, and she was passive-aggressively storming out the door. He smirked to himself. _Can't tell when you're being conned, conwoman_?

He started looking over her books. She'd acted strangely when he entered, just a hair on the frantic side. She'd been doing something she didn't want him to know about. He took a peek at one of the books she had spread out next to her, leaning on the couch cushion she'd been on. Strangely, the cushion felt lumpy.

He reached a hand in, pulling out a book she'd stuffed underneath. He flipped to a page she'd marked. The heading read 'musical boxes and their history.' "The music box," he muttered.

As he was flipping through the pages, he heard Nora's voice calling up the stairs. "Peter!" He quickly stuffed the book back where he got it and returned to his seat. He spun around as she ran in. Her eyes were sparkling. "Go back to the house."

_Did I go too far_? he wondered. His intent certainly hadn't been to get himself kicked out. "I told you, the power's out," he protested. "I can't go back."

"No, no," she snapped. "Christopher Gray's house. The FBI interrupted Pierce's search. She wasn't expecting that."

She was right. "So whatever she was looking for is still there." He stood. "Maybe we can figure out what Gray and Dan have in common if we go back."

She nodded excitedly… then her face fell, and Peter realized what she was thinking. "With Dan," they said in tandem, neither too excited at the prospect.

* * *

Peter practically had to drag a reluctant Nora up to Dan's apartment the next morning. "It's the FBI guys!" Dan greeted cheerfully as they stepped off the elevator. "Hey, welcome back."

"Dan, we need your help with something," Peter explained. "Mind coming with us?"

"Awesome. Of course." He smiled nervously at Nora. "Let me get my hat." He ran over and pulled a fedora off an antique mirror. "Let's go."

"Looks good," Peter told him kindly, clapping him on the back.

"Thanks."

Dan stood just a little too close to Nora in the elevator, trying – and failing – to strike up a conversation about history. She shot Peter miserable glances, to which he could only offer a small shrug.

They met up with Lauren at Gray's house. Dan was very enthusiastic about getting to cross the police tape and getting a pair of rubber gloves. "So this is a crime scene?" he asked.

"Yeah," Peter confirmed.

His eyes fell on the tape outline from where Gray had died. "That is where the body was," he noted in awe. Despite the body no longer being there, Nora was still a bit uneasy, perhaps in part due to Dan's presence, and kept her distance. "Don't touch anything, right? I won't. Just, uh, survey the scene."

"Dan, look in every room," Peter instructed. "It could be anything you have."

"Yeah, I'll let you know, Pete," Dan assured him. Nora smirked a little at the face Peter made. "Hey, Nora, maybe you could help me look."

"Yeah, maybe," she said tightly.

Peter stifled a laugh. "He wants you to help look," he repeated softly. "That's adorable."

"No, don't," she sighed.

"No, it's adorable," he insisted. "It's adorable. Go keep an eye on him," Peter instructed Lauren, who was obviously enjoying the show as well.

"So what happens if I don't find it?" Dan asked. "Where are we going next?"

Nora turned to Peter. "He's stalling because he wants to hang out with you," she said.

"No," he corrected, "he's stalling because he wants to hang out with _you_."

Nora opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off by Dan. "Is that fingerprint dust? Nora, did you see this?"

"Yeah," she said with a tight smile.

"Okay," Lauren interrupted. "Yeah, let's go check another room." Nora shot her a grateful look as she led Dan away.

As soon as she and Dan disappeared around a corner, Nora spun back around to Peter. "Okay, you're hanging out with him."

"No, you're hanging out with him."

"This is _your_ job," she reminded him.

"I'm not the one he's been flirting with all day."

"Rock, Paper, Scissors."

He looked at her incredulously. "I'm not gonna-"

"Rock, Paper, Scissors," she insisted.

Peter very nearly agreed when Lauren walked back in, holding a small, green elephant statuette, Dan looking very pleased with himself behind her. "This is it," she announced.

"Did I do good?" Dan asked as Nora moved to look at the elephant.

"You did great," she told him sincerely. She was looking at the elephant with wonder. "Peter, you know what this is?" He did not, but he was guessing based on the look on her face that she had a pretty good idea.

* * *

"It's one of the emperor's five elephants," he explained back at the bureau after doing a bit more research into their history, and having Dan bring his own in as well.

"There's five?" Dan asked, brow furrowed.

Nora launched into a short history lesson. "In 1421, ambassadors from all over the world came to China to celebrate the inauguration of the Forbidden City. Upon leaving, the Chinese Emperor, Zhu Di, gifted them each with a treasure." She gestured at the two elephants in front of her.

"They were subsequently stolen and reappeared in the United States in 1901," Peter continued. "They were broken up and sold individually."

"This is imperial jade," Nora added, "so each statue on its own is relatively valuable. How much did you pay for yours, Dan?"

"Eight hundred thousand, if you can believe it."

Nora nodded. "Yeah, combine one with the other," she said, linking the elephants tusk-to-tail, "you just double your price. Link them all together, and they're worth between a hundred and fifty to two hundred million fenced in the black market."

An unfamiliar man entered the room. "Or, to us, a priceless piece of our history," he said. The man was Japanese, and he smiled politely down at them. Hughes followed in after him, along with several other Japanese men, and everyone at the table stood.

"Agents," Hughes said, "and Nora, this is Daichi Yoshida of the Japanese embassy."

"Kon'ichiwa," Nora greeted cheerfully, ever the showoff, bowing deeply. She said something else after, but Peter didn't know very much Japanese.

The Japanese ambassadors bowed in return, thanking her for whatever she said.

"You are the ambassador of awesome," Dan told her.

Peter sighed. "Don't encourage her."

"We are not interested in the monetary value of the statues," Daichi continued, ignoring the unusual exchange. "We'd like to bring them home."

"The Japanese government has filed a claim stating the statues were stolen from them and illegally imported to the US," Hughes explained. "We're cooperating in the efforts to restitute them to their proper ownership."

Daichi smiled kindly at Dan. "And we thank you, Mr. Picah, for turning over your piece." He bowed at Dan, who returned the gesture excitedly.

"See, I did good," Dan told Nora.

"You did good, Dan" she agreed, patting him on the shoulder.

"We can finish this discussion in my office," Hughes decided, sending the ambassadors out. He turned to Peter. "It's very important we recover the missing pieces of the set, Peter. We don't want an international incident on our hands." Peter nodded soberly and Hughes left to join the ambassadors.

He turned back to the team. "We can't recover any of these pieces until we find out where Pierce is."

"What if we know who her next target is?" She gestured to Dan, who smiled obliviously.

Peter dismissed the team and sent Dan home while he retreated to his office to work alone for a while. He'd been at it for a little over an hour when Jones knocked on the door. "Hey, Peter, you got a sec?"

"Yeah," he sighed, "just going through Dan's phone logs... again. No contact with Pierce. Lauren still going through his computer?"

"Yeah." Jones cast a glance over his shoulder and shut the door behind him. "Listen. I got that other info you asked for." He handed Peter the evidence bag with the Scrabble piece. "Her name is Alexandra Hunter," he explained, offering over a file.

Peter flipped it open. "She's a high-end fence," Peter read. "Deals mostly in Easter European antiquities. Only been arrested once in France, but all charges were mysteriously dropped."

"Checked with a former law school buddy of mine in the DA's office," Jones added. "You know, just to see if he'd heard of her. All he'd say is she has powerful friends." That was all very reassuring. "Anything else?"

"No, thanks."

"Alright." Peter stood as Jones left, pacing as he read over the rest of the file. This Alexandra Hunter was exactly the sort of friend that Peter was uncomfortable with Nora hanging around with. The little guy was one thing, but a high-end fence with powerful friends?

Peter was interrupted by Lauren rushing in, Jones on her heels. "I got something," she announced, setting her laptop up on the desk. Peter snapped the file closed. "I've been going through all of Dan's online dating profiles."

She pulled up Dan's profile. "Come on," Jones scoffed as he read, "this guy did not play college football."

"Yeah, he's not a doctor either," Lauren added. "But look at this." She clicked on a picture on the side of the screen. "Our girl Pierce is desperate enough for the jade elephants that she 'winked' at him last night."

Sure enough, an all-too familiar face smiled up at them under the username 'foxxylady.' She'd also written a message. 'Would love to meet for a drink. Call me. XOX'

"Left her phone number," Lauren added. "Belongs to a prepaid."

"So, what?" Jones asked. "Should we arrange a meet? Move in for an arrest?"

"No," Peter sighed. "Our evidence is too circumstantial. Hughes is concerned we don't have enough to hold her and she'll disappear with the jade for good, which will not make the Japanese happy."

"Which will not make Hughes happy," Lauren joked.

"I say," Peter decided, "we send _Dan_ in for one hell of a date."

* * *

"You want me to what?" Nora asked blankly when Peter explained his plan.

"Meet Pierce for a date," he repeated. "Convince her you have two of the jade elephants, and you want to work together and split the profit."

She regarded him skeptically. "She'll be looking for Dan," she reminded him. "I don't exactly look like a Dan."

"You don't have to," Peter insisted. "We just need her to see you and talk to you. Look at Dan's profile picture." He turned his computer around to show her. "We send her a message saying you'll be the one at the bar with the hat. She gets there, you talk to her and convince her to work with you. If it worked escaping prison, I'm sure it'll be fine here."

She sighed. "I'm not so sure."

"Well, too bad," Peter huffed. "We need this one."

"Alright, but if this blows up, it's on you."

"Fine."


	29. Walking

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Walking

Nora waited at the bar. Her hair was pinned up under a fedora like the one Dan wore. She sipped on a glass of vodka while she waited. Strictly speaking, she wasn't supposed to be drinking on the job, but she had a cover to keep. Who goes to a bar and doesn't drink?"

"Daniel?" a woman's voice called from behind her. Nora spun around with a grin. Pierce's smile faded and she took a step back. "You look a little different in your profile picture."

"Good different or bad different?"

Pierce narrowed her eyes. "I'm not into women, sorry." She turned to leave.

"Stay," Nora insisted. "Stay just for one drink. I promise you, it's worth your time." Slowly, Pierce took a seat next to Nora. Nora turned toward the bartender. "Another Ketel One on the rocks, please. Thanks."

"Who are you?" Pierce asked.

"I'm the girl who set you up," Nora lied. "The FBI was sitting on Christopher Gray's house because I tipped them off."

Pierce glanced over her shoulder nervously, making sure no one was paying them any attention. "And why would you do a stupid thing like that?"

Nora pulled a photo of the jade elephants out of her pocket. "So I could get to these first."

"You got Daniel Picah's," she mused, slowly becoming less skeptical of Nora. "How did you get to it so quickly?"

Nora shrugged. "Guy like Dan is a sucker for a pretty face and a couple compliments."

"I take it you don't approve of my methods."

"I think there are smarter ways of getting what you want," she allowed.

Pierce raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"I find you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar."

Pierce scoffed. "I've never been the 'honey' type of girl, I suppose. I have to work with what I've got."

"Slightly jaded perspective," Nora mused. "Excuse the pun."

"I don't think so," she laughed. "I have a lot to work with."

"I'll drink to that," Nora joked, taking a drink before leaning forward. "You do have something I want."

Pierce cocked her head to the side innocently. "And how do you propose we solve that?"

"Team up," Nora said simply. "I got two, you got three. Separate, we're worth about two million." She shrugged. "That's not bad. Together, we're worth two _hundred_ million. Which, if you're bad at math, is significantly higher."

Pierce considered it for a moment. "I prefer to work alone." She turned to leave.

"Then enjoy your two million," Nora called after her. She turned back to the bar and waited, pushing Pierce's untouched glass off to the side. A moment later, Pierce returned and picked up the drink. "So you are good at math."

Pierce grinned. "You underestimate me."

"Miss me, Caffrey," an all too familiar voice said, coming up behind her. _God, not now._ Nora turned to see an angry Alex standing over her.

Nora sighed. "What are you doing her, Alex?"

"I don't see you for five years," she spat, "and within minutes of waltzing back into my life I've got the _FBI_ checking up on me?"

Pierce glared daggers at Nora. "This is another setup."

"No, it's not," Nora tried, but it was too little too late. Pierce headed for the back. Nora pushed past Alex to run after her.

"It stings when someone messes with your job, doesn't it," Alex called. "FBI ran my prints. That's bad for my business."

Nora spun back around. "It's not what you think, Alex." _I don't have time for this_. Pierce was getting away. She hurried toward the kitchen.

Nora caught up with her as she headed down a back street behind the bar. "Not much of an escape route," Nora mused.

"I'm good on my feet." She turned away.

Nora grabbed her and pulled her back. "I want the jade," Nora insisted. "You're not going anywhere without me."

"Is that so?" By the time Nora noticed Pierce's hand had slipped into her purse, it was too late to do anything. Pierce pressed a pocket knife against Nora's ribcage.

"Oh, you're gonna stab me?"

"Not quite." She and twisted around in Nora's arms, holding onto her wrists so Nora couldn't let go. Pierce started screaming bloody murder. "Help! I'm being mugged! Someone help me! Please, someone help!"

"Get your hands off of her," a man's voice boomed as a group of angry stockmen from a business across the street raced over. Pierce let go of Nora as the men swarmed around them, dropping the knife to the ground.

Two of the men grabbed Nora, and Pierce ran off into the night. Another man kicked the knife away. "There's been a misunderstanding here, guys," Nora told them. They held her arms tightly and Nora gasped in pain. "She's crazy."

"Call the cops," one of them told another. "Don't let her go until they get here."

"FBI," she heard Peter call as he sprinted across the street. Relief flooded Nora. "Let her go. Let her go!"

The grip on her arms slacked. "She was mugging some woman," one of the guys explained.

"Alright," Peter said. "I'll take it from here."

"Thank you so much for that," Nora sighed, rubbing her sore biceps. "Thank you. Thanks."

Peter ignored her and pulled out his phone. "Lauren, I got Nora. Pierce disappeared into the crowd." He hung up. "You see where she went?"

"No," Nora snapped. "I was a little preoccupied with the large men restraining me."

"Yeah, we weren't expecting your old friend to show up," Peter huffed, much to Nora's confusion. "I know about Alex." Nora didn't say anything, just sighed deeply.

They headed back toward the car. "She disappeared again," Peter sighed after getting off the phone with Lauren. "What the hell happened back there, Nora? What was your fence doing walking through the middle of our operation?"

"What were you doing pulling her prints?" Nora shot back, letting her anger bubble to the surface. "What? I welcome you into my home and you run a file on my friend?" Peter didn't answer. "You can't trust me. After everything."

"You tell me. I know you're looking for the music box. Maybe you're looking to pawn the jade too." Nora stared in disbelief at the accusation. "You let Pierce walk because you're playing your own angle?"

"There were three of them, Peter," she spat.

"You shouldn't have let her go."

Nora saw red. "Okay, you know what? You think what you wanna think. I'll walk from here." She turned away.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," she hissed. "Something you don't have right now. If you don't trust me, you can check my anklet."

"I will."

"Do it." She started walking

Peter sighed. "Nora, get in the car. It's not safe to be out walking this late."

She froze, glaring over her shoulder at him. "Why? So you can accuse me some more? I'll take my chances." Peter didn't say anything after that, and she walked slowly, hoping the night air would help to clear out her mind. She wondered idly if Peter was going to return to June's, but then decided she didn't care either way.

Perhaps he would be more reasonable in the morning.


	30. Power

Chapter Thirty

Power

Of course, when it rains, it pours. Nora's bad night got worse as she opened the door to find a gun pointed at her. Pierce sat at the table, waiting for Nora to return. "You found another gun," Nora said dryly. "Great."

"Hello, Miss Caffrey."

"How'd you find me?"

"Your friend let your last name slip at the bar," Pierce reminded her. "I did a little research. Come in. Sit. Shut the door behind you."

Nora wasn't about to argue with a gun. She slammed the door loudly and moved to take the chair next to Pierce. "You always break into places dressed like that?" Nora asked, noting her slinky silver dress.

Pierce didn't answer, he jaw set in a hard line. "Where are the pieces?"

Nora glanced between Pierce and the gun. _Think, _she told herself, willing her breathing to stay calm despite the threat. _How do I warn Peter without sending a message?_ "Gave them to a friend for safekeeping," she lied.

"Take me to them."

"Okay," Nora agreed, moving to stand.

"Wait." She froze as Pierce held out a pair of scissors. "We won't be taking your tracking anklet with us, Nora." _You really did do your research_. Nora sighed and took the scissors.

She pulled her leg up. _It's one way to send a message, I suppose. Not the one I want, but a message none-the-less_. "Soon as I cut this, an alarm is triggered. Response time is five minutes."

"So let's be quick."

Before Nora cut the band, there was a knock on the door. "Nora?" June called. _Thank you_, Nora thought with relief. She had hoped June would hear the door slam and come to see what was going on. As much as Nora hated putting June in front of a bullet, she doubted the woman would cause enough trouble that Pierce would feel the need to shoot. "Nora?"

Pierce motioned for Nora to go sit on the couch, waving the gun threateningly. "Okay," Nora agreed softly, holding her hands in front of her.

"You speak a word and she's dead," Pierce threatened.

Pierce hid the gun behind her back before she opened the door. Nora stooped to cut the anklet when an idea struck. _Maybe I can sent the message I want._

Pierce opened the door just a crack. "Hi, can I help you?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt," June said, and Nora could tell by her voice that she knew something was up. June was always quick on the uptake. Nora sipped the band. _I hope this works. _"I know you told me you were just going to wait here for Nora to arrive, but I heard the door slam. Is everything alright?"

Keeping an eye on Pierce, Nora started tapping the ends of the anklet's band together quickly. Dot-dash-dash-dot dash-dash-dash dot-dash-dash dot dot-dash-dot.

"Sorry," Pierce apologized while Nora made her dots and dashes, "long day. Nora's actually just got back. She's in the restroom, but I will tell her you stopped by."

"That's fine," June agreed.

"Night."

"Night."

Nora just finished as Pierce closed the door. She held up the anklet. "Tick tock."

"Let's go." Nora nodded, tossing the anklet down on the couch, taking one last look at its red light as it blinked angrily back up at her. _Please, get the message Peter._

* * *

Peter was working late at the office, still fuming, when Lauren rushed up the stairs. Her face was grim as she came into his office without knocking. "Nora cut her anklet," she said, voice heavy, before Peter had a chance to say anything. His stomach sunk into his shoes. Had he been right all along, that she was going after the jade? Or had he made her so angry she decided to run anyway?

By the time the team got to Nora's apartment, she was long gone. They brought June back to the office for questioning. Peter explained the situation to Hughes while June sat with Lauren and Jones in the bullpen looking at photos.

"Alright," Hughes sighed while they walked. "Pull every alias Caffrey has. Hit the airports and the waterways. We can't let her escape with the jade or the Japanese are gonna be very, very upset."

Peter had a gut feeling that that wasn't what was going on, against his better judgment. "I don't think they ran together," he decided. Hughes looked incredulous. "Nora knows better by now." It sounded stupid even as it left his mouth, but he just couldn't shake the feeling that he was right.

"Peter, she set Alex up as a fence for the jade and she let Pierce escape tonight." Peter drew in a deep breath. Logically, it made sense. "Caffrey put every damn thing in place."

Hughes walked away, Peter unable to refute his arguments. "Peter," June said, coming over to join him. Her face was pressed with concern. "We both know she didn't run." Peter nodded somberly. At least someone was on his side.

June turned to leave and Lauren caught Peter's eye from her desk. She held up a photo of Pierce, who June had identified. Peter sighed heavily. There was something they weren't seeing. "Pull Nora's tracking information," he ordered. "I wanna see everywhere she went this week."

Lauren and Jones met up with Peter in the conference room when they had what he'd asked for. They watched the feed run, up until earlier that night. "That's Nora at the bar tonight," Lauren said.

"Just let it play," Peter instructed. He watched closely. "Alright, that's us walking to the car. That's her deciding to walk instead." The dot moved slowly as she walked. "Can you fast-forward it?"

"Mm-hmm." She pressed a button and the dot zoomed to her apartment. "That's her at June's house."

The light turned red and started blinking rapidly. "So Caffrey cuts it here," Jones said. "Why don't we go back to yesterday?"

Something about it looked wrong, Peter realized. "Wait wait wait. What's that flickering at the end?" He'd seen the feed when she'd cut it during past cases. It had never flickered like that before.

"A short circuit when she cut it?" Lauren suggested.

"Play it again." Peter watched as it beeped. "That's not a short circuit," he realized. "That's Morse code."

He sped it up and played it again. _P-O-W-E-R._ "Power," he muttered. _Always so clever, Nora_. "I know where she is." He turned to get a team ready to roll out.

* * *

Nora picked the lock on Peter's front door. Under any ordinary circumstance, that would likely infuriate him. She figured he'd let it slide, however, given the situation. Pierce followed closely behind, gun trained on Nora's back, flashlight cutting through the darkness.

"My friend's upstate," Nora explained, flipping the light switches idly, leaving them in the 'on' position. "Cuts the power when he goes. It's the perfect hiding place for the jade."

"Where are the pieces?" Pierce demanded.

"He told me he put them in a drawer," she lied. She headed for a stand against the wall to start looking.

"Hey," Pierce snapped. "You think I'm stupid?" _Nope, I think you're predictable_. "Stay back where I can see you." Nora moved out of her way while Pierce started rifling though the drawers.

Keeping an eye on Pierce and staying where the woman could still see her, Nora set to work, switching the stereo on and cranking the volume all the way up, still banking on Peter getting the message.

Nora backed slowly toward the TV. Just as her finger hovered over the power button, Pierce's flashlight swept over to her and Nora held her hands in front of her. "Where the hell are they?" Pierce demanded.

"Look, he swore to me that they're here, okay?"

"Don't play with me, Caffrey," she threatened.

"Hey," Nora said calmly. "I want this thing over just as much as you do. Alright?" Pierce started pacing around slowly. She started rummaging through a cabinet under the bookcase. Nora took the opportunity to click on the TV and press the volume button a handful of times.

She edged slowly away from Pierce, toward the couch. If Peter got the message, he would be close by that point, and Nora really didn't want to be in the line of fire.

Pierce glared up at her, stalking slowly closer. "They're not in here, Caffrey."

Nora held up her hands, feeling her pulse start to jump. _Any time now, Peter_. "If he said they're here, they're here. We just gotta keep looking." Pierce didn't look convinced. Her grip tightened on the gun, and Nora felt her mouth go dry. "Please," she plead. Pierce took aim.

Light and sound exploded around them as the doors burst open and agents started pouring in. Pierce jumped, cringing away from the sudden blindness and cacophony. Nora ducked behind the couch before she had time to recover herself and shoot.

Agents swarmed around her, wresting the gun away and restraining her. Peter stalked in, glaring at Pierce as he clicked off the blaring stereo. Heart still pounding furiously, Nora got to her feet. Peter spun around to face her as Jones cuffed Pierce and led her away.

"Welcome home," she managed.

Peter let out a breathy chuckle, a small smirk playing on his face, but mostly there was relief there. Nora wondered idly what for; that she was okay, or that she hadn't run.


	31. History

Chapter Thirty-One

History

"So Caffrey didn't run, huh?" Hughes confirmed after Peter caught him up to speed upon returning to the office.

"No. Alex showing up in the middle of the operation was entirely unrelated. She found out we ran her prints and assumed Nora had something to do with it. She let Nora's name slip to Pierce, who was able to figure out who Nora was. Pierce held Nora at gunpoint, and Nora passed a code when she cut her anklet that led us to my place, where we arrested her."

Hughes nodded. "Well, the important thing is that we got the jade back," he decided. "You should get some rest. We'll wrap this up in the morning."

Peter accepted that; it had been a long night. After getting Nora a fresh, new anklet, they called it a night. Nora was already starting to nod off in the car by the time they got back to June's, the adrenaline of the night's events wearing off.

He opted to let her sleep in a little the next morning. She deserved it.

When they got back to the office the next morning, refreshed, the Japanese ambassadors were waiting up in the conference room with Hughes. "Thank you," Daichi said gratefully after they brought out all five recovered elephants. "You have done our country a great service." He bowed deeply.

Peter and Hughes took the cue and bowed in return. "It's our pleasure," Peter assured him.

"Indeed," Hughes agreed. They turned to leave. "Good job, Burke."

Peter couldn't take all the credit. "Couldn't have done it without Caffrey." Hughes didn't look like he agreed, but didn't say anything. Peter headed down the stairs, where Nora was talking in Japanese with some of the ambassadors. Whatever she was saying, they seemed to find hilarious.

She started mimicking someone snoring obnoxiously as Peter came up behind her. "Excuse us," she said politely, leaving the laughing group behind her.

Her expression turned sour as she turned to Peter. "She negotiated the jade for a four-year sentence?" He nodded. "Peter, that's not fair. I got four years and I never killed anybody."

Peter couldn't help but laugh at the indignation on her face. "I was at your trial, remember? You were cocky and arrogant, and you pissed off the judge. You want leniency, maybe you should try being likable." She rolled her eyes, scowling at the floor.

Peter noticed the Japanese ambassadors Nora had been speaking to glancing over at him and stifling laughter. Nora seemed to notice too, as her scowl slowly turned into a smirk. "Why they looking at me?" he asked.

"Ah, it's nothing. It's nothing. Hey, check this out," she said quickly, changing the subject as she pulled a piece out of her pocket. "The Saito Hotel. Look at that TV." It _was _an impressive TV. "Thanks to our goodwill with the Japanese ambassador, I've arranged for you to stay there."

"Wow," he laughed, taking the paper. It was a really nice hotel. "You kicking me out?"

"No," she insisted. "No no. I just thought you could watch the game on _that_ TV tonight. It's yours for the rest of the week."

"Wow," he repeated. Even thought it was completely her way of kicking him out, he appreciated the gesture. "I have to go back to your place and grab my bags."

She cocked her head to the side, smiling sweetly. "What kind of friend would I be if I made you get your own bags?" She rounded her desk, where she'd somehow been able to hide them. He wondered idly when she managed to get them there without his knowing, but decided it was probably better left as a mystery.

Peter took his bags from her. "You're all set," she said happily.

"Is this because I ran Alex's prints?" he guessed.

Her sweet smile didn't waver. "It's for so many reasons, Peter."

He laughed, but decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

* * *

Nora slipped up silently behind Alex, paper flower in hand. Just before she was able to tuck it in Alex's bag, her hand shot out and caught Nora by the wrist. "Not this time, Nora." Nora laughed. Alex, it seemed, wasn't as mad as she had been at the bar. She took the flower, rolling it over in her fingers. "Those have lost their charm for me. What are you doing here?"

"You're still my friend, Alex. I thought we could use a do-over. Start over from the beginning."

Alex didn't look impressed. "You and I have too much of a history for a do-over, Nora."

"I'm sorry," Nora tried. "I should have been honest with you."

Alex shrugged. "I know better than to trust you."

"Likewise," Nora agreed with a laugh. "But I don't want to lose a friend. Those are kind of in short supply in our line of work, you know?"

Alex considered this for a moment then sighed. "I know where the music box is," she admitted.

"Where?"

Alex pursed her lips. "Well, as long as you're working for the FBI," she said, tucking the paper flower behind Nora's ear, "_you'll_ never know."

Nora glared at her. "Oh, that's cold." Alex just smirked and turned away. "Come on."

"Sorry, Nora." Nora scowled after her, watching her only hope of getting the box disappear into the crowded city streets.

* * *

Mozzie was waiting at the table when Nora returned home. She sighed heavily, sinking down into the chair next to him. He raised an eyebrow.

"I talked to Alex again," she sighed.

"Based on your face, I'm going to guess it didn't go well."

"Understatement. She's still upset Peter ran her prints-"

"As well she should be," Mozzie injected. Nora shot him a hard look. "Continue."

She rolled her eyes. "She knows where the box is, but she won't tell me while I'm working for the FBI."

"Can you blame her?"

Nora sighed. "No, not really. I wouldn't want to help me either."

Mozzie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I have to convince her to help me somehow, or I'll never get the box."

"We'll figure it out," he assured her, but it was beginning to feel like a hopeless situation. "Oh, you got another post card." He reached across the table and plucked up a piece of paper. It was the same as all the others, nothing but a PO box and a single chess move on the front. Looking into the PO box had revealed nothing about the mysterious sender.

Nora stood and crossed over to the mini chess board, moving the piece indicated by the card. The game was definitely beginning to feel familiar, but she still couldn't quite place it. Clearly, the game was meant to mean something to her, but she just couldn't wrap her head around what. She'd played chess with lots of people in her life. If one of them was trying to send a message, she wished they were bit more direct. Between the mysterious chess player and Fowler, she was getting tired of mind games.

"Any answers?" Mozzie asked from the table when she hadn't moved for a while.

"No," she sighed. "Just more questions."


	32. Hit and Run

Chapter Thirty-Two

Hit and Run

A couple weeks had passed since the jade elephant case. The air in the city was pleasantly cool, and Nora had taken to aimless walks to clear her mind. She wondered how they must have looked to anybody taking a peek at her tracking data, but if Peter thought it strange, he didn't say anything.

Nora came back from one of her walks feeling somewhat refreshed, grabbing her mail on the way up. She flipped through it idly as she entered.

"Realists," a voice said from behind her, making her pause, "don't fear the results of their study." _Sure, just let yourself in, Moz_.

Nora went back to her mail. "Then why don't you find me more favorable results, Dostoyevsky?"

"I hit everybody who would or could know about the damn music box," he protested. "Nothing's coming up."

"Well, keep looking." She found what she'd been looking for and spun around to show him. "Moz."

"Ah. Your anonymous chess opponent again. Why aren't you more curious about who's sending them?" It was true; she really wasn't trying so hard to find out who was behind the game. Answers would come when they came, she'd decided a couple weeks back. There was no use stressing about it with everything else on her mind.

Nora shrugged. "I like the mystery."

"Your boyfriend's missing," he reminded her, "you can't find the one thing that might free him… Once could say there's enough mystery in your life." She ignored him. "Where's the postmark from on this one?"

She checked. _Curiouser and curiouser. _"There isn't one."

"There isn't one?" Mozzie repeated, brow creasing. She handed it over. "As in, someone hand-delivered this card to your door?"

That was a bit concerning. Nora grabbed the stack of previous cards and started flipping through them. "This is odd," she noted. "The other cards are blank. The new one has a picture of the Museum of Natural History on it." _Maybe I'll be figuring out who's been sending the cards sooner than I thought. _"A good mystery makes life interesting."

She pulled her chess board out to mark the move. "You know the Chinese curse?" Mozzie asked. "May you live in interesting times."

She was familiar. "You know, that's the first of two curses," she added.

"What's the other one?" She was surprised he didn't already know.

"May you find what you're looking for," she said with a smirk. "What's the move?"

He checked the card. "Uh, knight to D-7." She moved the piece and a sudden wave of realization hit her. She froze, hoping against hope that she was wrong, but no.

Mozzie noticed her change in expression and leaned forward. "You've done this move before, haven't you." he realized.

She swallowed hard. "Moz, I know who I'm playing... Keller. This was our last game."

"Are you gonna be okay?" She didn't answer. He looked down at the card in his hand. "Well, it looks like Keller's in New York. Who won?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "We never finished playing."

If Keller was back in New York, it couldn't have been for anything good. Nora had cut ties a long time ago, and there was a lot of bad blood there.

"This has something to do with the Museum of Natural History," she mused. "I'll look into it at work tomorrow."

* * *

"Nora," he greeted lamely as he passed. She was early, hard at work at her desk, pouring over case files.

"Peter."

Then he froze. Nora was never early and she never sat quietly pouring over case files. He spun back around. "You're here early."

"So are you," she countered.

He narrowed his eyes. "What'cha doing?"

She looked up at him with wide blue eyes, shielding her files with an arm. "Are you serious?" He came around the desk, pulling one of the files away after a lame attempt on her part to hold them down. She sighed, defeated.

Peter read. "Heist of the American Museum of Natural History. Not your normal hotbed of crime and intrigue," he joked.

"Yeah, it's probably nothing," she said lightly, trying to pull the file away from him. Whatever was going on, she didn't want him to look into it. Which, of course, made him want to look into it that much more.

"Hold on," he protested, pulling the file out of her reach. "Interesting list of items stolen. Antique cork duck decoys from the store room." He tried to gauge her reaction, but her face was blank. "They also took wax-sealed supply list and French soil samples that belonged to Dr. John Bartram."

She smiled. "Father of American botany," she supplied.

_She's clearly seeing something here that no one else has_. "Just playing a hunch?" he asked.

"Oh, they already have a suspect," she dismissed. "They caught a guy stuffing his backpack." She pointed to the picture of the suspect.

"Manuel Compos," he read. "He's out on bail today. Maybe we should go talk to him."

"We could do that," she said slowly.

* * *

Peter was suspicious. Of course he was; he was smart, after all. Nora wasn't sure if she wanted to bring him in yet, though if anyone deserved to be on Peter's radar, it was Keller.

"I think it's great you've taken an interest in a small-time museum heist," Peter said as they walked, perhaps trying to get her to spill something.

"History is important."

"Yeah," he scoffed. "Duck decoys and French soil samples." She didn't say anything and he fixed her with a hard look. "You don't want me looking into this. Why?"

"I don't wanna waste your time with a hunch."

"Cut the crap," he snapped, seeing right through her. "What's going on here?"

She sighed. "Look, I'm being honest with you, Peter. I don't know yet."

"Alright, _clearly_, there's something bigger going on. I don't believe for a minute that this Campos is the mastermind and neither do you. Who's pulling the strings, and why do I give a damn?"

"I have a theory," she started, as they started to cross the street. The squeal of tires caught her attention. "Oh, look out!" She threw an arm up in front of Peter as the car sped past.

They watched as the car slammed into a pedestrian crossing a little ways up the road, the driver not even trying to slow down before the impact. The pedestrian rolled over the car before flopping to the ground like a rag doll. A woman screamed nearby.

"That's Campos," Nora realized, a knot forming in her stomach. The nearby woman was hysterical.

Peter rounded on Nora, who was still staring numbly at Campos. "You're gonna tell me what the hell is going on," he hissed before rushing over to try and help.


	33. Bin 903

Chapter Thirty-Three

Bin 903

Peter was just finishing up on the phone when Nora walked into his office. She had been shaken when they returned. He sighed. "Manuel Campos just died in ICU," he told her. She took a shaky breath. "His wife's a mess. Says she didn't see the driver. NYPD's out of leads. Tell me who's responsible for this."

She nodded. "His name's Matthew Keller," she explained, handing over a file she'd already prepared. "He's like the blue-collar version of me."

"Keller," Peter mused. "He's been on our radar before."

"And he always slipped off," she added.

"Interpol's linked him to everything from arms smuggling to stolen antiquities."

"Yeah, but they never had anything more than hearsay." She sank down into a chair with a stony expression. "Keller's never been caught."

Peter flipped the file closed. "Alright, who is he? Some kind of rival of yours?"

Her expression darkened. "Something like that. We met at the Grand Casino. Cut our teeth in Monaco working the World Backgammon Finals. Last I heard, he pulled the Stockholm Airport robbery."

Peter was familiar with that case. "He drove right up to a flight unloading Krugerrands. Left fake bombs on the runway so no one could follow." Peter raised an eyebrow. "You met him playing _backgammon_?"

"It was simpler times," she sighed, eyes a million miles away. "And I, uh, might have ripped him off a few years back." Before Peter could respond, Nora continued. "If this is Keller, I'm guessing he posted Campos' bail so he could get rid of him."

Peter sighed deeply. "Alright. What's with the museum heist, the cork and the wax?"

"It was a bet Keller and I made a long time ago," she explained. "Counterfeit a bottle of wine owned by Ben Franklin."

"You and your wine," Peter chided. "That's why people are dying on the street?"

She rolled her eyes. "Marie-Antoinette gave Franklin a bottle of Chateau du Munn." Her eyes began to take their usual gleam as she delved into a history lesson. "It's rumored to be in private hands, but it's never gone to auction. The point is, the Franklin bottle can't be counterfeited."

Peter nodded in understanding. "So it's a challenge. Figure out who can pull off the impossible."

"May the best man win."

"I don't care about your rivalry," Peter huffed. "If he's my killer, I want him." She nodded soberly. "Let's check around." He picked up his phone. "Let's see if there's any chatter on this bottle."

* * *

"Mr. Cattigan," Peter greeted the man they'd pulled into the conference room. He claimed to have information about the bottle.

"Sir Roland Cattigan," the man corrected in his posh British accent.

"Ah. _Sir_ Cattigan, you know about this Franklin bottle?"

"Yes. A seller will be presenting it on Friday and we will be adding it to Weatherby's Acution."

"Who is this seller?" Peter asked

"May I ask why the FBI wants to know?"

"It's a forgery," Peter said simply.

The man scoffed. "Oh, that's quite impossible. The Franklin bottle-"

"Can't be faked," Peter finished, "ever."

Cattigan seemed surprised. "Well, my seller wishes to remain anonymous," he dodged.

"Then you're gonna have to disappoint him."

"Tell me agent," Cattigan sighed, "do you fashion yourself a wine aficionado?"

_Not in the slightest_. Peter leaned back in his chair. "I like a good Pinot now and then."

"Pinot," the man repeated dryly. "You've seen 'Sideways.'"

"Your point?"

"My point is that my palate is insured by Lloyd's of London for a million Euros," he snapped. "My point is that you don't understand the subtleties of my business."

"I think I do," Peter said softly. "Word gets out a high-profile bottle like this is fake, you're done. Now, I don't wanna shut your business down and search your premises with a warrant, but I will." Peter, of course, didn't have a warrant, or probable cause to get one, but _Sir_ Cattigan didn't know that. Peter picked up a takeout menu for Federal Plaza Restaurant that just happened to have a very official looking seal on the front.

Sir Cattigan licked his lips nervously. "I don't know the seller," he admitted. "But the broker for the bottle is a woman named Grace Quinn." Peter smirked. "Satisfied?"

"I believe I am." Sir Cattigan showed himself out, and Peter met up with Nora, who was waiting by the stairs for them to finish.

He offered her the takeout menu. "What's this?" she asked, brow furrowed.

"My search warrant," he joked. "Put me down for moo shu pork."

She laughed. "I'm a bad influence."

"Our broker's name is Grace Quinn," Peter explained, opening his file. "Says here that she runs an upscale wine cellar called Bin 903. Think we can link her to Keller?"

Nora considered this for a moment. "Let me talk to her," she decided.

"What?"

"You can't go asking around with a badge," she explained. "You'll scare him off." Peter huffed, knowing she was right. "I'll tell her I'm representing a client who's interested in the bottle, see what I can dig up."

He still wasn't so sure. She rolled her eyes. "You know where to find me," she reminded him, tugging up her pant leg a little bit to show off the anklet, it's green like shining cheerfully up at him.

"Always do."

* * *

Nora had been in a wine cellar a time or two in her career, and Bin 903 was certainly impressive. Cover story in place, Nora introduced herself to Grace Quinn as the representative of a wealthy client. The two began talking business.

"Why don't you tell me a little bit about your client's collection?"

"Of course," Nora agreed. "It's quite respectable. Chateau Latour, Mouton Rothschild, a case of Petrus, 1945."

"That's a serious collection," Grace allowed.

Nora shifted a little in her seat. "Look, my client doesn't want his ex-wife or the IRS to know about his holdings," she explained pointedly.

Grace offered an understanding smile. "That's not uncommon. We're very discreet here,  
she assured. "If you'd like to bring him by, I'm hosting a private wine tasting to celebrate Weatherby's annual sell." She handed Nora a paper with the details.

Nora glanced over the list quickly; it was very impressive. "Does that invite extend to me?" she asked lightly.

Grace chuckled a little. "If you bring your client, it does. We'll be opening some rare bottles."

"Alright, I'll see what I can do." Nora switched gears back to business. "My client is a very cautious man. It'll help if I can give him a firsthand account of the facilities. Any chance I could get a tour?" Nora flashed a hopeful smile.

Grace considered it for a moment. "Of course," she decided. "Right this way." She led Nora thought the building, pointing out various points of interest as they went.

Finally, they got to the part that most interested Nora: the wine cellar itself. "As you'll see," Grace continued as the made their way down the stairs, "our vault is state-of-the-art. Humidity is at a constant sixty-two percent. Temp at fifty degrees Fahrenheit."

"Nice," Nora mused as she stepped down from the stairs to take a look. A collection of wine bottles were shelved in a vault behind thick glass walls. Nora's eyes caught on the door. Rather than a traditional lock, it was protected by a combination thumbprint scanner and key pad. Just out of curiosity, Nora pulled down the handle. An alarm started blaring, a bright red light blinking on over the scanner.

Nora jumped away as Grace came up behind her, laughing. "Ooh, sorry about that," Nora apologized sheepishly, watching as Grace moved to deactivate the alarm.

"It's okay," Grace assured her as she entered a code on the key pad. She placed her thumb on the scanner and the light turned back to green. "That's what it's here for. We change to code every day."

"Good. I noticed you don't have surveillance cameras," Nora noted.

"We consider our clients' anonymity to be top priority," Grace explained. "I assume it's something a cautious man like your client would appropriate."

_It's certainly something I appreciate_. "Well, you assume right, Grace."

"Shall we?" she asked, holding the door open for Nora. Nora stepped through, discreetly paying attention to the door as she pretended to take a look around. The door made a soft _beep_ as Grace shut it behind them. _So it locks again automatically once it's closed. No keypad on this side, so the alarm is only triggered one way._ She tucked that information away for future reference and started milling through the shelves.

Her eyes caught on a box with three very old bottles nestled delicately inside. "Chateau Du Munn, post-French Revolution," she admired. "Nice. Who's the collector?"

Grace smiled slyly. "I can't say."

Nora raised an eyebrow. "It wouldn't happen to be the same individual who will auction the Franklin bottle on Friday?"

"I can't comment on that bottle," Grace dodged. "But, uh, no." Her eyes shifted quickly to something across the room. "It's not the same individual." Nora traced her line of sight to another box.

"Ah. Seems more his speed," she allowed as she looked over the bottles inside.

"That I can neither confirm nor deny."

Nora regarded Grace for a moment. "Let's be honest with each other. I know you're brokering the sale."

"You shouldn't," Grace told her pointedly, crossing the room slowly.

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be very good at my job, Miss Quinn."

Grace's lips pursed together slightly, but she managed a tight smile. "Your client must be well connected."

Nora smirked, leaning in close. "That I can neither confirm nor deny," she said softly. Grace didn't say anything, but some of the tightness in her placid smile relaxed. "I'd love to meet the seller of the bottle some time."

Once again, Grace's body language betrayed her. Her eyes locked on something over Nora's shoulder, and Nora glanced back to see what. It was a book titled 'Taverns of New York,' a book that had no business in a wine cellar. But that isn't what caught Nora's attention. It was the postcard peeking out from the middle of the book, marking a page.

With a pointed look at Grace, Nora headed to take a look at the book. "He's been here recently, hasn't he?" she guessed.

Grace crossed her arms. "What makes you say that?"

"A man of his taste, I'm sure he has an appreciation of history, as do I. May I?"

"Be my guest," Grace sighed, shrugging a little.

Nora flipped to the marked page. "King's Crown," she read. "A tavern once frequented by George Washington. Now long buried under Water Street. Fascinating."

She turned over the postcard in her hand. Where on all the past ones there had been chess moves, something different was written. '8 PM.' Nora swallowed hard. "I get the message."


	34. A Challenge

Chapter Thirty-Four

A Challenge

Water Street was right at the edge of her radius. No doubt, Keller knew that and chose the spot for exactly that reason. Nora didn't tell Mozzie where she was going; he would worry, try and convince her not to go. It was stupid, but she had to know what his little game was about. Her hands trembled as she walked.

A chain-link fence surrounded a construction area on Water Street. Nora cased the area casually, killing time until eight. Her phone rang as she walked, and she answered it quickly. "What's up, Peter?"

"How did your chat go with Miss Quinn?"

"Ah, I didn't find anything on Keller," she lied smoothly.

"Think he finished the forgery?"

"Maybe," she allowed. "I don't know. Did you find anything on your end?"

"I might know why he's running this scam, and it's got nothing to do with you."

_Sure, that's why he's been sending me chess moves on post cards for weeks_. "Am I supposed to feel relieved?"

"I would be," Peter chuckled. "I contacted Interpol. Their sources say he's got a big bullseye on his back."

That sounded about right. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. That Stockholm heist he pulled, it was bankrolled with Russian mob money. Seems the comrades got a little upset when he skipped Europe without giving them their cut."

"If they catch him now, they'll kill him," she realized.

"Unless he promised the Russians their money back and then some."

"He's gonna pay off his debt with the money from the bottle." She scoffed. It was so typically Keller.

"I want you here first thing in the morning. I wanna find Keller before they do."

Before Nora could respond, her eyes caught on something on the other side of the fence. A figure crouched on the ground beside a little plastic lantern. She could just make out curls of cigarette smoke dissipating into the night in the dim light.

"Me too," she said quickly before hanging up.

She made her way around the fence, looking for a gap big enough for her to slip in. He was still crouched to the ground as she came up behind him. She kept her hands tucked in her coat pocket so he wouldn't see them shaking. They were separated by a small trench, bridged by a thin board.

He'd been waiting for her and noticed her approach, glancing over his shoulder as he snuffed out his cigarette on the makeshift bridge.

Nora took a breath to steady her voice. "Matthew Keller."

He stood slowly. She could make out the shape of a wine bottle in his hand. "I see you got my postcards."

"Thanks for keeping in touch," she said dryly. He didn't move toward her, staying on his side of the trench.

"You're looking good, Caffrey," he leered. When she didn't respond, he shook his head a little and continued. "We never did get to finish our game." He propped a leg up on the board, resting an elbow on his knee, and leaned forward casually. "Aren't you curious to see who wins?"

"Not anymore." He didn't look so convinced, but said nothing. "Manuel Campos died today."

"I'm sorry, who?"

"Your thief," she spat. "He had a wife."

Keller smirked. "Still afraid to get dirty, huh, Caffrey? Don't wanna break a nail?" He stepped up on the board, taking a few casual steps forward. Nora didn't move.

"Violence requires no imagination," she reminded him. They had had this conversation before. "Anyone can use a gun. Or a car."

Keller laughed. "That's why you'll always be second-rate, sweetheart." The words, coming from his lips, made her skin crawl. She buried her discomfort and scoffed at his remark. "Yeah," he continued. "You're too weak to do what's necessary to get what you want. Tell me, how's that loser, Kyle?"

She glared up at him. He studied her for a moment, trying to gauge her reaction. "Nice try," she huffed. "You lost that game, remember?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, maybe I did. But I'm not the one who ended up in prison for four years. So, who's the real loser?" She didn't answer, refusing to give into his baiting. "I told you a long time ago, Caffrey, you should have stuck to women's work."

It was the straw the broke the camel's back. Red hot anger surged through Nora and, against her better judgment, her feet started carrying her toward the makeshift bridge. An insistent beeping froze her in her tracks before she could get too close. She glanced down at her anklet, it's light rapidly blinking yellow. Slowly, she took a step back until it settled back to green.

Keller smirked, and she scowled at him. That was exactly why he chose the spot. It ensured Nora was going to play nice as long as he stayed on his side of the trench. "I should have warned you," he said lightly, "but we're, uh, at the end of your leash here. Might wanna take it easy, hon."

She stayed silent, just staring at him with contempt. "Imagine how I felt," he continued, taking a couple small steps forward, "when discovered that you of all people were working for the feds."

"I step forward and a dozen FBI agents will be here in minutes," she warned.

"That right? Be my guest," he scoffed, calling her bluff. "Only one they'd have sufficient cause to arrest is you."

"Really?"

"Yeah." She glanced over her shoulder toward a 'no trespassing' sign hanging on the fence. "Trespassing?" He shook his head, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Come on, Nora. You're clutching at straws here." He sounded disappointed.

"They got Al Capone on tax evasion," she reminded him.

"You flatter me with the comparison."

Nora was done with small talk and mind games. "What do you want?"

He shrugged. "I wanna play the game.

She gave him a withering look. "The Franklin bottle?"

"Yeah. I wanna know who's the best." Was that really all it was about? A pissing contest so he could try and prove himself the better forger?

_I'm not playing your stupid game_. "You already submitted yours for the auction. Guess you won." She turned to leave.

"You never could follow through, Caffrey," he taunted, trying to play on her ego. Against her better judgment, she stopped. "That's why Kyle split." She turned back toward him, waiting to see where he was going with it. "I'll give you the first piece."

He tossed her the bottle in his hand, and she caught it gingerly. "Now, let's play the game," he continued as he turned away. "You got ten days." He disappeared into the darkness, leaving Nora clutching the bottle and running her trembling fingers over it.

* * *

After staying up half the night thinking about her meeting with Keller, Nora made a decision. The next morning, she finally called Mozzie, asking him to meet her on the way to the bureau. Before he had the chance to say anything, she pressed the bottle into his hands and started walking.

"What is this?" he asked, catching up to her.

"A challenge."

"Okay… Where'd you get it?"

"Keller." If Mozzie was surprised, he didn't show it. "He wants a face-off. Gave me the first piece to forge my own Franklin bottle.

"Awfully sporting of him," Mozzie said dryly, studying the bottle in his hand.

"Well, not exactly," she amended. "He gave himself a big head start.

"Why do I get the feeling this isn't about the bottle?" he asked softly, eyeing her with concern.

"Moz..." she sighed, stopping.

He rounded on her. "Look, I know what happened with Keller is still-"

"Stop," she snapped. "It doesn't matter what it's about. Keller killed a man."

"Sure, your motives are very noble," he sighed. "But I'm worried about you." Nora rolled her eyes, not wanting to hear it, and started walking again. Of course, Mozzie followed. "Okay, what's the plan?"

"I'm gonna beat him," she said simply. "He gave me the bottle. Now we need to fill it, cork it, seal it, and label it." She glanced over at him. "You like scavenger hunts?"

"I've been known to uncover and Easter egg or two in my time," he allowed. "What's on the list?" She ran down the items Campos had stolen from the Museum of Natural History for Keller and Mozzie assured her that he would get started on it.

She continued toward the office.

* * *

Peter was waiting for her in his office. She was acting odd as she sat down, clearly in a sour mood. Rather than try to change the subject or dodge his questions, she told him about meeting with Keller the night before.

"You saw Keller?" he sighed, rubbing a temple.

"I did."

"Damn it, Nora," he huffed. "We could have done this right. I could've taken him down."

"On what, exactly?" she snapped. "He's completely clean. That's how he operates."

Peter rolled his eyes. "That doesn't take away that you should have cleared it with me first." No matter how many times they had this conversation, she still didn't seem to get it. It just went in one ear and out the other.

"You're right," she allowed, glancing down at her lap. "I should have."

He hadn't expected her to agree. "You should have," he muttered. He pushed away his annoyance and handed her a file. "Weatherby's received Keller's bottle this morning."

She studied the photo in the file for a moment. "Wow," she mused. Despite whatever issues she apparently had with Keller, she couldn't help but be impressed by the quality of the forger. "It's good."

"Yeah. It's also our only piece of evidence linking Keller to Campos' murder. And it's locked in a vault. Might as well be at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean," he huffed, "considering how circumstantial all of this is."

"I'm assuming a take-out menu won't fly this time," she joked, seeming a bit more like her usual self.

"Nope."

She smirked, and Peter recognized the look that said she had an idea brewing in that devious mind of hers. "Unless we can convince them it's a fake."

Peter shook his head. "This Cattigan guy won't stop the auction just because we claim it's a fake. And we need proof that it is."

She seemed to have already considered that, looking very pleased with herself. "We can submit a Franklin bottle of our own," she suggested. Peter's brow furrowed. "There's only one bottle in existence, right? If I turn in a fake that's just as good as Keller's, they'll have to test them both."

Peter wasn't familiar with how wine was authenticated. Crazy as it was, that situation had never come up in his career. "What kind of test?"

"Standard stuff," she said with a shrug. "Carbon-date the cork, run a molecular test on the wax, spectroscopic refraction on the glass."

Peter nodded, seeing where she was going with it. "Stuff they got from the museum heist."

"Right," she agreed. "His bottle will pass those, and so will mine. That'll force the museum to run a cesium test. They don't like to run them because they're so expensive. But it's a way to determine the age of the wine inside the bottle without opening it." Her eyes glittered. She loved showing off her knowledge at any opportunity. "Cesium 137 doesn't exist in nature. After they detonated the first atomic bomb, it spread around the world. Anything that was bottled _before_ 1945-"

"Like the real Franklin bottle," Peter injected.

"Right. -Is cesium free. Keller's bottle has it. It's a fake."

Peter wasn't sure he was following completely. "Why can't I just get some hundred-year-old wine and fill it up?"

"There's the rub," she said, anticipating this question. "They'd know you just added it because the oxygen content would be too high. _That's_ why it can't be forged."

"And you think you can beat this cesium test?" He knew she thought she was good – and she was – but surely not even she would be _that_ good.

"No, nobody can," she scoffed. "It's impossible." She didn't seem deterred. "That's the beauty of it."

Peter finally got what she was suggesting. "You force the test, you both fail. It proves that Keller's bottle is a counterfeit." She nodded slowly along with him. "We got him on fraud."

"It's not murder," she allowed, "but it's a start."

Peter smirked, knowing she was likely already working on it. "How are you gonna put the bottle together?"

"I already got a man on it," she assured him.


	35. No

Chapter Thirty-Five

No

By the time Nora made it home later that evening, darkness had already fallen. She opened the door to her apartment and saw Mozzie at the table. The room was dimly lit, and Mozzie sat focusing intently on what he was doing with a large pair of tweezers. He didn't seem to noticed she'd entered.

She shut the door silently behind her and walked over to him, heels not making a sound on the wooden flooring. She glanced over his shoulder. "How's it coming?"

Mozzie spun around, screaming, a wild look in his eyes as he brandished the tweezers like weapon. She jumped back, holding her hands up in front of her. "Moz," she huffed. He calmed down, realizing it wasn't someone there to murder him. "Overreact much? What are you gonna do with tweezers?"

He didn't lower them. "The shinobi ninja can fashion a weapon out of anything."

"You're not a ninja," she said dryly, moving to get a better look at his work.

"That's exactly what I want you to believe."

She rolled her eyes, but let it go. "How's the bottle coming?"

"Oh, uh, I paid off a guard at that maritime exhibit for French cork made before the Industrial Revolution."

She bent over to study his materials. "You got our newspaper," she noted. "This is a 'New York Gazette' from 1785." She smiled, impressed.

"They use it for insulation in the walls at the Colonial Ale House," he explained.

"That's perfect," she admired, taking a seat next to him.

"There's only one egg missing from our basket."

She eyed his materials. "Wax," she realized.

"Preferably 18th century beeswax from the Chateau Du Munn vineyard." That was definitely a bit of a tall order.

But not impossible. "Grace, Keller's broker, has a few Chateau Du Munn in her vault. How much wax do we need?"

"Not much," he decided. "I can make it work with just a few shavings." He thought for a moment. "How's the security there?"

"Good," she admitted. "Keypad with a rotating code, biometric scanner plate."

"Oh, we can just-"

She already knew what he was going to say. "_With_ pulse monitor."

"Oh," he sighed. "That makes it trickier. So how do you get in?"

A plan began to bloom. "Have her open the door," she muttered.

Mozzie raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting her to elaborate. "For you?" he prompted.

"No." She grinned. "For my client, Carlton Leed."

"Who's that?"

"Well, nobody yet. But I think Peter might do the trick."

Mozzie considered this for a moment. "You think the suit is going to go along with your plan to break into a secure vault to steal beeswax?"

She shrugged. "There's only one way to find out."

* * *

Peter already had a sinking suspicion about who was on the other side of the door when he heard the knock. Sure enough, Nora stood there as he opened it. It was never a good sign when Nora felt the need to intrude late at night with no notice. It meant she wanted something that she realized Peter wasn't going to go along with easily. Otherwise, she would have called.

He let her in with a sigh and offered her a beer as she sat down at the dining room table. She sipped on it as she explained the problem she and the little guy had encountered, the need for a very specific type of wax to make the forgery convincing. And her plan to remedy that problem.

"No," Peter huffed, looking at her as if she'd lost her mind.

"That's your favorite word, isn't it?" she accused, drumming her perfectly manicured fingers idly on the table.

He shrugged. "It's a classic. Nope, never, forget about it." She was out of her mind if she thought he would ever actually agree. "What makes you think I would break into _any_ place with you and steal _anything_?"

She shook her head quickly, holding up a hand to stop him. "We are not breaking in," she insisted. "You'll be shown around. And we're not stealing anything…" He shot her a pointed look, wondering if she really heard herself when she spoke. "Of value." She sighed, leaning closer when she realized that tactic wasn't working. "All I need are some wax shavings. It's like taking a lock of hair from the floor of a barber shop."

"Theft is theft," he reminded her. Not for the first time, he wondered at her ability to do mental gymnastics to reach the conclusions she did.

"I'm a CI," she protested, "not an agent. I don't have the same restrictions. We can call this one a gray area."

_Only Nora would think it's acceptable to call theft a gray area_. "Nada," he said firmly.

"Come on," she sighed. "You can get all dressed up, hobnob with pretty people, drink a fine glass of port."

Peter crinkled his nose. "From everything you know about me, what makes you think I'd enjoy any of what you just said."

Her face was serious and she met his eyes evenly. "Because this is about catching a killer." Peter sighed, the logic – while flawed – starting to crumble his reluctance. "A wax shaving for a murderer."

He thought for a long moment. "This won't affect the value of anything in Grace's collection?" He could hardly believe the words were coming out of his mouth as he said them. But she was right. A wax shaving seemed like a small price to pay to make sure a murderer was brought to justice.

"Nope," she assured him, "no, nada."

Peter sighed, meeting her eyes again. "You know, for the record, I hate port. It's syrupy."

She shrugged. "There will be other options." She took a sip of her beer.

Peter studied her for a moment. There was something different in her eyes than he was used to seeing. Sure, she had a history with the guy, but from where Peter was sitting, it seemed like she was sitting somewhere between anger and sadness. Those were two emotions she usually hid under a calm and confidant facade. "Why are you so determined on this one?" He asked suddenly. Her eyes grew wide. "And don't tell me it's just because Keller killed a man. We've dealt with murders before."

"I don't-"

"Come on," he huffed. "Is it some kind of rivalry thing?"

She sighed, looking down at the table, spinning the beer bottle around in her hand. Peter waited, eyeing her expectantly. "I told you, I ripped him off a few years ago."

"Yeah."

She shrugged, still not looking up. "I don't just go around stealing from the people I work with for no reason. Honor among thieves, you know?" Peter scoffed, but she ignored him. "Keller's a bad guy. He hurts people." Her voice was small. Peter was very suddenly reminded that she was a small, slight woman armed with just her wit and her smile. She didn't use guns or violence. She didn't have any training. _She's scared of him_, he realized.

"Are you worried he's going to try to hurt you because you stole from him?" Peter guessed. "Because you know I won't-"

"It's not that," she insisted. "If he wanted to get back at me for that, he's had plenty of time." Her eyes snapped up, and there was a resolve in them that Peter hadn't seen there before. "If anyone deserves to go down for everything he's done, it's Keller."

Peter didn't know how to respond. He got the feeling there was still something she was holding back, but the look in her eyes stopped him from asking. If she wanted to tell him, she would in her own time. They finished their beer and she headed home.


	36. Beeswax

Chapter Thirty-Six

Beeswax

It was a joint effort between Nora and Elizabeth to get Peter ready for the wine tasting. The man seemed to have no sense of style. If he was going to go undercover as a wealthy wine collector, he needed to look the part. In the end, Nora ended up borrowing some of June's late husband's wardrobe to aid the cause. Peter thought he looked overdressed, but Nora and Elizabeth decided the look was perfect.

Nora herself chose a flowing, mauve maxi dress that hid her anklet well. She had separated her hair into two braids and pinned them up securely. She finished the look with some borrowed jewelry from June, simple but elegant.

Peter was still grumbling about the wardrobe as they made their way into Bin 903. He was messing with his tie, one of Byron's, nose crinkled in distaste. "I still say this tie is ridiculous," he muttered.

Nora rolled her eyes. "It's Italian. And it looks good."

"I feel like I should be flossing my teeth with it," he joked, "not wearing it around my neck."

There was just no helping some people, Nora decided. "The sooner we can get Grace to show us the cellar, the sooner you can get back to your favorite sweatpants." Nora dropped her voice down low as they reached the top floor. "Now, I know wine isn't your thing."

"It's a tasting, Nora," he huffed. "You nose a bottle, take a sip, and say something pretentious like 'rich with nice body.'" Nora would disagree with that sentiment, but let it go, spying Grace across the room.

"Speaking of," she joked, catching Grace's eye. Grace excused herself from the people she was speaking with and made her way over.

"You made it," Grace said brightly. "You must be Mr. Leed."

Peter shook her hand. "Please, call me Carlton."

"Grace Quinn." She looked Peter up and down. "I hear you're a man of discriminating taste. I hope we find something to your liking today." Peter just smiled politely. "Love your tie," she added before turning to lead them back the way she had come.

Peter glanced down at his tie again. "She loves the tie," Nora said smugly.

"Yeah."

As Grace approached a table laid out with wine glasses, a man poured drinks for the two of them. Grace handed them each their glass. "We'll be starting with a 1985 Chateau Petrus Pomerol."

"Great year," Nora noted. "You're not holding back." They each took a sniff of the wine. Nora savored it. While she had a decent collection at home, it had been far too long since she'd been able to enjoy truly fine wine. They swirled the wine around briefly before taking a sip.

"What do you think?" Grace asked expectantly.

Nora noticed Peter's hesitation and jumped in. "I'd say it's… woodsy, with medium body and a hint of-"

To Nora's surprise, Peter cut her off. "The lady asked what _I_ thought," he said pointedly. Peter paused for a moment, smelling the wine once more before he answered. "The use of wood is evident in its broadness of flavors." Nora couldn't help but look at him incredulously. _Since when do you know anything about wine_? "Great persistence in the mouth. It opens up well in the glass."

"I would agree," Grace said, looking as surprised as Nora felt at the eloquence in which Peter had answered. Peter shot a smug look at Nora, who couldn't help but nod slightly in approval.

Getting the validation he sought, Peter returned his attention back to Grace. "I understand you have a more substantial private collection."

"Would you care to see the vault?" she offered. Peter nodded and Grace led him away. They'd gone over the plan. All Nora had to do was taste wine and mingle while she waited until it was her turn.

* * *

The vault was as impressive as Nora had said it was, Peter had to admit. He watched over Grace's shoulder as she put in the code, though it wasn't going to do much good for him to know it. Grace glanced over his shoulder at him. "You're friend's not coming?"

"Oh, no, I don't need a babysitter." The lock buzzed and Peter grabbed the handle before Grace could. "Please, allow me."

"And you're a gentleman, too," she mused as he held the door open for her. While her back was toward him, Peter ran a small piece of tape over the lock. "As you can see, our security system is state-of-the-art."

"Really?"

Peter milled around, pretending to be interested in the wine collection as Grace went over some of the bottles. It was all very boring stuff. Nora had suggested he stall for ten to fifteen minutes to make it look convincing before deciding to return back upstairs. He practically counted the minutes.

* * *

Nora kept her eye on the stairs as she listened to a conversation between two people, nodding along as they discussed their 'very interesting' topic, which frankly was quiet mind-numbing. After about fifteen minutes, she saw Grace and Peter reappear.

Waiting until they passed out of sight, Nora headed casually toward the stairs. No one looked at her twice, and the vault was empty as she made her way down. As expected, the green light was still lit up on the lock. After opening the door, she peeled up the piece of tape Peter had left and let it shut behind her with a wary glance over her shoulder.

"There you are," she cooed as she pulled the lid off the box she'd seen before. "Chateau Du Munn, post-French Revolution." She pulled a small razor blade out of her purse and started collecting the shavings into a small baggie.

A sound pricked in her ears, and she glanced over in time to see Grace's legs appearing down the stairs. _Less than ideal_. She pulled the lid back onto the box and darted behind a shelf, mind racing as she willed herself to come up with any lie that could explain her being in the locked vault.

* * *

Peter raced down the stairs. Nora hadn't returned from the vault yet, and he needed to stall Grace long enough to get Nora out of there before she ended up leaving in handcuffs. "Miss Quinn," he called, "I have a question about the Chateau Petrus." Grace was standing next to a man in an expensive suit. The man spun around slowly, and Peter recognized him from a picture in his files. Matthew Keller. "Sorry to interrupt."

"Mm, please," Keller allowed with a light shrug. He studied Peter for a moment. "Don't I know you?"

"I don't think so."

"I guess you just have one of them faces, huh?" The man drained his glass, and Peter took the moment of distraction to glance into the vault. He just made out the top of Nora's head and a single, wide blue eye over a box on one of the shelves. "Mind filling this up for me?" Keller asked Grace.

"Of course."

"Thank you." Grace took the glass and headed for the stairs. Keller waited until she was out of earshot before he continued. "Now I got it. Yeah, I saw you earlier. You, uh, you came in with your friend." Keller glanced around. "Where'd she get off to, anyway?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not her keeper."

Keller smirked. "You're not, huh? See, I think you are. And then I wonder what would happen if I asked the security guard to check the vault right now." Peter glanced back to where he'd seen Nora before. She was gone. "I wonder what that does to a lawman's career when his errand girl gets caught breaking into someone's private property."

Nora had mentioned that Keller liked to play games, that he knew how to get under someone's skin. Peter was starting to see that first-hand. But Peter wasn't so easily riled up. "And I'm having a hard time figuring out why I don't book you for murder one right now."

Keller started scratching his brow idly. "Is that right?"

"Yeah."

"How 'bout I get Grace to lock this vault down? What are the cops gonna find when they look inside?"

Before Peter could answer, Nora's voice called out from the other side of the glass. "A cellar full of dusty, overpriced wine." Keller pursed his lips, but looked somewhat amused to see Nora step out, the door locking behind her. She was tense, Peter noticed, as she moved to stand just slightly behind him, her arm brushing against his. Her jaw was tight, and her blue eyes were cold steel.

Keller chuckled, looking her up and down. "You know what? I'm glad you brought in the FBI, Caffrey. Makes it exciting, right? Be that much richer when I beat you."

She leaned in toward Peter. "Oh, I forgot to tell you," she muttered, loud enough Keller would hear every word. "He's a big fan of himself."

"I noticed that," Peter agreed.

Keller glanced away, laughing under his breath. "By the way, I heard that somebody mowed down a civilian," he said, changing the subject, "right in front of an FBI agent. What a shame." Peter fixed him with a hard look. "I mean, that's gotta be embarrassing for the bureau, right?" When he realized he wasn't getting a reaction, he shrugged. "Good luck with the investigation."

He stepped very close to Nora. She was close enough that Peter, still pressed arm-to-arm against her, he could feel her tense up. Peter watched Keller like a hawk, fists balled tightly, as the man raised a finger and ran it down Nora's cheek gently, his eyes holding hers. As his finger reached her jaw, he tapped her under the chin, just hard enough Peter could hear hear her teeth chatter together lightly. With a smirk, he turned toward the stairs.

Peter watched him go, glaring after him until he disappeared from sight. "I spend five minutes with the guy, I wanna punch him right in the face."

Nora didn't respond with some quip like he was expecting. He glanced back toward her and immediately realized something was very wrong. Her lower lip was trembling and her clutched her purse tightly in front of her until her knuckles were white. Before he could say anything, a single tear rolled down her cheek. Peter felt his stomach sink. _She really _is _scared of him_.

"Nora?" She didn't answer, still staring off into space, eyes a million miles away. She had joked about crying in front of him before, but he'd never actually thought it was something he would have to deal with. He fumbled uselessly for words. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

She just shook her head stiffly. "Come on," he said gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Let's get out of here."

She walked numbly beside him. He had gotten the sense before that there was something more unsaid between her and Keller, and now he was certain of it. It took a lot to make Nora lose her cool, calm, and confidant demeanor. Somehow Keller had managed to do it over the course of a single conversation. Something about him had seriously shaken her up.

Peter made some lame excuse to Grace about Nora taking ill and rushed them out. Thankfully, Keller was nowhere to be seen. The air outside had grown chilly as dusk settled and Nora trembled like a leaf while they walked toward the car. He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her. She pulled it closer to herself like she was wrapping herself in a cocoon.

She still held it around her shoulder as Peter drove. He glanced over toward her, though it was hard to make out her details in the dim late evening light. She was silent, staring blankly ahead and Peter couldn't think of a single word that might help her.

He pulled the car to a stop outside of June's. She didn't move and he wondered if she even realized they had arrived. She didn't look at him when she finally spoke. "Sorry I freaked out on you like that."

"Don't apologize," he dismissed gently. "Look, you don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to, but I can tell there's something more to the story than you told me." She remained silent. "Tell me how I can help you."

"You can't help me." Her voice was so low Peter could only just make out the words. "It happened a long time ago. There's nothing _to_ help." She finally glanced over at him, just for a moment. Whatever weakness she'd shown earlier was replaced by a stony mask. "Besides, I know how you get around emotional women." He couldn't quite tell if it was meant to be a joke or not.

"If something's bugging you, don't worry about me. I'm your friend. You can talk to me, if you want to."

"I know." She let out a heavy sigh. For a moment, Peter thought she was going to get out of the car without another word, her hand tracing lightly over the door handle. Then it fell back into her lap, and she closed her eyes.

She didn't open them as she spoke, seemingly lost in some long-gone time. "Being a woman in a male-dominated field isn't always so easy. A man says he can do something, he's taken at his word. A woman says she can do something, she has to prove it. I worked hard to earn my reputation. I met Keller, like I said, playing backgammon and we hit it off pretty easily. He didn't immediately write me off just because I'm a woman like so many of the guys I've worked with have.

"I ended up doing a lot of jobs with him. Our styles meshed pretty well. Kyle didn't really like him, said Keller made him uneasy. I just kind of chalked it up to a jealous boyfriend thing and brushed it off. But, as time went on, he started making jokes. 'Maybe you should stick to women's work, Caffrey,' or 'Why don't you get back in the kitchen and make me a sandwich?' That kind of stuff. I brushed it off as just him having a crappy sense of humor.

"Then Kyle left, and I dedicated a lot of time trying to find him. I worked a lot more jobs with Keller in the meantime. We had just pulled off a pretty good one, and decided to have some drinks to celebrate."

She went silent for a moment, and Peter wondered if she was going to continue. He swallowed down the lump in his throat while he waited, already getting a bad feeling about where the story was going. After a long moment, her eyes opened slowly. Her voice was a small, quiet monotone, like she was trying to distance herself from the memory. "He tried to kiss me, but I was still in love with Kyle. I told him that, and that I wasn't interested.

"Something changed, in his eyes. He started ranting about how much I owed my reputation to him." She snorted bitterly. "As if. I was doing just fine before I met him. He accused me of leading him on.

"I was getting mad and, honestly, kinda scared. I stood to leave and told him he could come find me when he decided to stop being a jackass. Next thing I know, he's kissing me again and trying to reach a hand up under my shirt. I shoved him away and ran for the door.

"I laid low for a couple weeks, didn't hear anything from him. Eventually, I fenced the score and kept all the money for myself. He never came looking for it, and until this case popped up, I only saw him once after that night. He acted like nothing had ever happened."

Her voice had started to waver near the end, and she looked dead ahead. Peter struggled to find something to say that could possibly be comforting. She had been right; he _couldn't_ help her. "Nora-"

"Don't," she sighed. She turned slowly toward him. Her eyes were hard, guarded once more. "I appreciate it, but don't. It was a long time ago. It's just… when he touched me, I panicked. I'll be okay, really."

"I'm sorry if I pushed you to tell me something you didn't want to," he offered lamely.

The corners of her lips tugged up just the slightest bit, but it didn't touch her stony eyes. "Peter, you should know by now, if I don't want to tell you something, I'll lie."

"Really? I hadn't noticed." She managed a weak laugh. "I promise, we'll take Keller down. And I think you'll feel better once we do."

"I know."

"You should go get some sleep." He didn't have to tell her twice. She nodded once, climbing slowly out of the car. He watched her until she disappeared inside before pulling away, mind slowly churning over the story she'd told him. Just thinking about it boiled Peter's blood. _Keller's a bad guy. He hurts people_. That was going to stop if Peter had anything to say about it.


	37. Leverage

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Leverage

He tried to focus on work in his office, alone, the next day. He texted Nora, telling her to focus on the bottle; he'd manage at the office without her. His mind was a million miles away when a knock on the door pulled him back to reality. Hughes stepped in slowly, face drawn down in a deep frown. "This can't be good," Peter sighed.

"Why does everyone say that when I walk into their office?"

Peter raised an eyebrow. "So you have good news?" he asked, skeptical.

"No." Figured. "I contacted the auction house. They're closed to new entries."

Peter leaned back in his chair. "Closed. We can't submit our bottle?"

"Sorry, Peter," Hughes sighed. "Now quit the fool's errands and catch this guy." Easier said than done, considering their only plan was shot. Peter threw his pen down on the table in frustration. Nora wasn't going to be happy, but maybe she could help him think of a new plan. Anything._ I'll be damned if I let him slip through my fingers because of this_.

* * *

Seeing the completed bottle put Nora back in better spirits. "You've outdone yourself, Moz," she praised, running a soft brush over it softly.

"Flatterer." But he didn't disagree with her statement. "What's next?"

"I set up the vacuum pumps," she explained, moving to pull said pumps over to the table, "and transfer the wine."

She was interrupted by a knock on the door. Nora's eyes grew wide, and she glanced back at Mozzie, who seemed to be thinking the same thing as she was. "Expecting someone?" he asked slowly. She shook her head. "Keller, maybe?"

She swallowed hard. As she walked toward the door, she focused on her breathing. If it was Keller, she wasn't going to lose her cool this time. She wasn't going to be weak. She pressed her ear to the door, hand lingering on the knob. "June?"

"No…?" She sighed in relief at the familiar cadence of Peter's voice as she pulled the door open. Peter waited on the other side, holding a hot dog.

"Peter, hey. What are you doing here?"

Based on his face, he wasn't there for anything good. "I got some bad news. The auction house is closed to new entries." Her face fell, and she gestured Peter inside. He stopped at the table, examining the forged bottle. "I appreciate your 'A-Team' run here, guys, but I can't let you take your bottle to Weatherby's. It's Hughes. He pulled the plug."

"If we don't," Nora protested, "they won't run the cesium test. Keller will get away with half a million dollars, and probably murder." She could hear the venom in her voice, but didn't care to hide it.

"What if he wins?" Peter countered. "Or worse, what if you win?" _Impossible._ "This guy will stop at nothing."

"That's why we have to stop him," Mozzie injected. "No offense, but your team hasn't."

Peter sighed deeply, staring down at the bottle while he considered their words. "You're right. Keep going. Let's take him down." Peter looked between them for a moment. Nora, for a moment, was afraid to meet his gaze, but his eyes held none of the pity she was afraid – and expected – she would see. Instead, he glanced toward Mozzie and offered him the half-eaten hot dog, for some inexplicable reason. "Finish?"

Mozzie held up a hand. "Lactose."

Peter turned back to Nora. "See you in the morning," he said, heading toward the door. "I'll call Jones and figure out a way to get this bottle into the auction."

Once Peter was gone, Mozzie smirked a little, having the go-ahead to finish the bottle. "Let's go, Haversham," Nora said, snapping before she returned to her task of setting up the pumps. Mozzie was giddy as they got the wine ready to transfer.

* * *

Peter got to work early the next morning and pulled Weatherby's records and started the tedious task of combing through them for any bit of leverage he could find to get their bottle in the auction. As the search started to grate on his nerves and the stacks of papers grew almost too daunting to continue reading, Peter remembered the look on Nora's face after their face-to-face with Keller and pushed on with renewed fervor. She deserved this win.

"Morning, Peter," Jones greeted, coming up the stairs.

"Morning," he muttered.

"I got nothing on the auction house," Jones reported, much to Peter's frustration. "Weatherby's looks pretty damn legit."

"Damn," Peter hissed. "I need some kind of leverage so Cattigan will let our bottle in."

Jones took a seat. "Keller really got to you, huh?"

Peter sighed heavily. That was one way of putting it. "Yeah, he's a piece of work. He's like the anti-Caffrey. Nora holds herself to a certain standard in her crimes. Keller will do anything to get what he wants." Peter felt anger welling in his stomach once more and forced his attention back to the papers in front of him. Something was finally beginning to jump out at him.

"What? You got something?"

Peter grinned. "Yeah. Yeah, they had lousy weather in France this summer," he read on a report detailing decades of weather reports. "Couple of blazing hot months. Grape harvest came up short."

Jones didn't seem to be following. "That's good?"

"Yeah. 1947 was not a good year." This was Peter's leverage. _Looks like Weatherby's didn't do their homework, now did they_?

* * *

The bottle was done, and the day of the auction had come. Peter had been a little light on the details, but he was convinced he had enough leverage to get the bottle accepted. As they made their way into Weatherby's, they auction had already began. A woman stood at a podium, taking bids from lavishly dressed rich people.

Peter eyed the room quickly. "I see European nobles and a handful of hedge fund managers, but no sign of Keller," he huffed. "It's hard to arrest him on fraud if he doesn't show up."

"Keller wouldn't miss the chance to see my face when this goes down," she muttered. She wondered briefly if that sounded vain, but she was convinced she was right. "He must be watching." Her eyes fell on cameras set up around the room.

Peter seemed to have noticed them too. "So he could be anywhere?"

"No," she decided. "He'll be nearby just in case anything goes wrong."

"Doesn't help us much."

It was less than ideal. She held up the canister the bottle was stored in for save keeping that she had tucked under her arm. "You think we can get this into the auction?"

"I have a move up my sleeve." Peter ended up flashing his badge to get into Cattigan's office, and Nora watched from the sidelines as he attempted to get the bottle submitted. The two bottles, side by side, looked nearly identical except to the most scrutinizing eyes. Both were stunning pieces of work, if Nora did say so herself.

"I'm sorry," Cattigan huffed after Peter finished saying his bit, not yet resorting to the 'move up his sleeve.' "I can't submit your bottle since, clearly, it must be counterfeit."

"One of them has to be," Nora corrected. "How do you know it's not yours?"

"We have reason to believe this is the real bottle," Peter lied.

Cattigan studied it for a moment. "Where did you get it?"

Nora and Peter shared a brief glance. "We're not at liberty to say," Peter dodged.

"Ah." Cattigan did not look impressed. "I won't admit it to the auction."

"You sure about that?" Nora didn't miss the slight tug at the corner of his lips. "Last year, you sold six magnums of Chateau La Fleur, 1947, at about $50,000 a bottle."

"That's public record."

"I talked to the vineyard," Peter explained. "They only produced five magnums that year." Nora looked at Peter, thoroughly impressed. As trump cards went, Peter had certainly taken the trick. Peter grinned slightly now, stepping just a little closer to Cattigan. "You don't want people knowing you got scammed, do you? Bad for business."

Nora shrugged lightly. "I guess you'll have to test them both to find out."

Cattigan wasn't ready to back down, however. "I can't," he insisted. "It would take at least three hours. _The auction_-"

He was cut off by the arrival of a new voice. "Can wait three hours," Grace assured him from the doorway. Peter and Nora spun around, and Grace smirked at the two of them. "My client welcomes the challenge."

"Figured he might," Nora muttered.

Peter rounded back on Cattigan, who seemed to have lost his resolve. "Oh, while we wait, why don't you give me the IP addresses of everyone watching on your Internet feed?" Cattigan pursed his lips, but didn't object. "Thanks." Peter and Nora shared a triumphant look. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the tests.


	38. Stall Tactics

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Stall Tactics

Three hours was a long time to stand around and wait. Nora seemed perfectly content to wait, but Peter was starting to get antsy. There was a lot riding on this one, and Peter just wanted it over and done with. He killed time pacing outside the auction hall when his phone started to ring. "Hey, Lauren."

"Hey, boss," she greeted, "how's it going?"

"They're running the tests now."

"Congrats."

"Yeah, not celebrating yet," he sighed. "How's it going in there?"

"We're tracing those IPs."

"Any hits?"

"Three locations," she explained. "The Carlisle, The Peninsula, and a parking garage." One of those things was not like the others. "Who would be watching from a parking garage?"

"Somebody who wants to be on the move," he said. If Peter was a betting man, he would have put his money on the parking garage. He glanced back toward the auction hall to see Nora heading his direction. "Send units to the hotels, but put the bulk of our guys on the parking garage." He hung up without giving her a chance to respond.

Nora had come to a stop next to Peter and was tugging on a curl absently while she waited for him to get off the phone. "They're about to announce the results of the test," she muttered.

"We're about to move on Keller."

She drew in a deep breath. "Sounds like checkmate to me." They headed back in to hear the results of the tests.

"Thank you again for your patience," Cattigan said from the podium at the end of the room. "We apologize for the delay, but as some of you are aware, we have had to conduct a cesium test to verify the authenticity of the two bottles we have been presented with." As he spoke, he shot a withering look at Peter and Nora. The corners of Nora's lips tugged up just a little, seeming to find that amusing.

Cattigan put on his glasses. "The test shows," he continued, "that one of the bottles is a forgery."

Peter's stomach flip-flopped. "_One _of the bottles?" Nora's eyes were wide, mouth agape. She was dumbfounded. _She said it was impossible_.

She didn't speak, instead fixing her attention on the podium. "The other," Cattigan said, "represented by Miss Grace Quinn is authentic." A murmur went through the crowd. "Thank you for your patience. The bidding will commence shortly."

Peter pulled Nora away. "You said it was impossible to fake."

She shifted on her feet. "It _is_ impossible," she huffed. Then realization dawned on her. "Unless he had-"

"The real bottle all along," Peter concluded in tandem with her. That was certainly not something they had considered.

"If Keller had the real bottle, why would he go through all this?" Peter asked. Their case was slowly slipping away. Unless they thought of something fast, a murderer was going to walk free. Nora's eyes were back to that mixture of anger and sadness he had seen in them before. "Why pretend to have a fake?"

She gestured to the crowd before them. Where there had been buzz about the bottle before, it seemed to have doubled. People made frantic phone calls before the auction began. Suddenly, everyone wanted the bottle.

"He wanted to drive up the price," Peter realized. "Damn. That's it."

"Surround the bottle with controversy," she added. "Now everyone in here's dying to get their hands on it."

"It will go for double, even triple the price now."

Nora nodded somberly. "Which gives him more than enough money to pay off his debt to the Russians." She scowled. "He used me to do it."

"This was his plan the whole time," Peter sighed, feeling a pang of sympathy for her. "He is good."

"We have to arrest him now," she muttered. "Soon as this auction ends, he's gone."

He understood where she was coming from, and he wanted to arrest him right then and there himself, but his hand's were tied. "What am I gonna arrest him on? I mean, we have nothing on him now."

She licked her lips, thinking hard. "Trespassing," she said suddenly.

"What?" She nodded slowly. _Trespassing_. Of all the things in the world they could possibly have on him, could they really be desperate enough to rely on something so weak. _Yes, yes we can_. "I can't believe I'm gonna ask you this, but have you _seen_ him trespassing?"

"I have, actually," she said earnestly, "at a construction sight. It had a 'no trespassing' sign and everything."

"Alright," Peter sighed. "We may not be able to hold him for long." He checked his watch. "But finding Keller is gonna take a bit."

"I'll stall until you can get him."

He was sure she had a million ideas on how to do that, and wondered how many of them he would actually approve of. "Nothing-"

"Illegal," she cut him off, "I know." She held up her hands in exasperation. He didn't have time to worry about that. He had to meet up with Lauren to help find Keller.

* * *

Nora waited a few minutes after Peter had gone before she stepped outside. Her heart was pounding, and her hands shook slightly. She willed herself to be calm, but it wasn't working too well. There were plenty of things one could do to stall an auction, but Peter's restriction of 'nothing illegal' certainly limited her options.

As she stepped out into the cool early fall air, she dialed her phone. "Yo," Mozzie greeted after the second ring.

"Hey, Moz, it's me."

"Is the auction over?"

"No, I just stepped outside."

"So, how's it going?"

She sighed. "Not good," she admitted. "Keller's bottle is real."

"He has the real bottle?" She could picture the stunned look on his face. "You're kidding me?"

"Nope."

"Then why-?"

"To drive the price up," she explained before he could finish.

"Brilliant," he conceded, sounding a bit bitter about it. "And we took the bait. Did they test both bottles?"

"Yup."

"How did our bottle do?"

She smiled a little, despite the situation. "Passed every test except the cesium," she said with a note of pride. "You did great, Moz. Now focus. I need your help. We can still nail this guy."

"On what?"

"I'll tell you later," she dodged. "Gotta find him first. Remember how I told you Keller has a debt to the Russians?"

"Of course," he huffed. "I have perfect recall."

She rolled her eyes. _Don't need perfect recall to remember you telling me that about a million times since we met_. She let it go. "Well, I'm trying to stall the bidding. Keller's gonna want to pay these guys off as soon as possible."

"Which must mean that they're in town somewhere," he concluded.

"Exactly."

"I'll ask around."

"Well, do it fast," she sighed. "If you find anything, meet me at Weatherby's. I'll leave a pass for you in the front." She hung up and turned to head back in. _Now for the tall order of actually stalling the auction_.

* * *

Peter pulled to an abrupt halt outside the parking garage Lauren had texted him the address of. She was standing with a group of other agents, waiting for Peter to arrive. He ran to join her. "Anything?" he demanded.

"Signal's coming from the northwest corner of the garage," she explained, the group starting for the garage. Peter pulled out his gun. "We sealed off every entrance and exit."

"Alright, good. We're doing a floor-by-floor search, people, starting now." They crossed the road quickly. "I want everyone prepared. This guy could be armed. Nobody gets out."

They met another bunch of agents inside and split into teams inside to cover more ground. "Anything?" Peter asked as the teams converged on the same point.

"No, nothing yet?" Lauren sighed.

"Clear," another agent said, meeting up with the group.

"Clear over here," a second agent reported.

"Damn it," Peter huffed. "Alright, next floor. Let's move."

They made their way up, heading toward the northwest first. Peter spied a car sitting apart from the others, idling. That had to be it. He signaled to the agents around him and the began to swarm around the car. Peter, gun trained in front of him, peered in the window.

"No one inside," he realized.

"Look at this," Lauren said from the other side of the car. Peter glanced at the passenger seat where a laptop was hooked up with feed of the auction.

"Son of a bitch must have seen us coming."

* * *

Nora sat in the back of the auction hall, still not a hundred percent sure how she was going to stall. Cattigan was back at the podium, addressing the crowd once more. "I must say, it appears this spot of intrigue has whetted appetites. So, without further ado, we'll open the bidding at $100,000."

As he started the bidding, Mozzie plopped down in the seat next to her. "What did you find out?" she asked softly.

"I did follow-up on your suit's intel," he began. "It turns out the Russians are indeed after Keller. They want their money now. And Sergei himself is in town. He wants personal assurance from Keller that he's gonna get paid the moment this auction is done."

"I got an idea." She waited to elaborate on that plan, watching the auction as the price grew incrimentally. If they were going to pull it off, the timing had to be right.

Her phone vibrated in her purse. She dug it out, and turned her back to the auction to answer it. "Peter," she said quietly. "Any luck?"

"He's not here," Peter huffed. "Security cameras have him fleeing the scene. He hotwired another car two minutes before we cordoned off the building."

"So you have no idea where he is?"

"We're pulling surveillance on him now with traffic cams," he amended. "Putting together a timeline. Couldn't have gotten far. Didn't have time to take any of his things with him."

"His things?" she asked.

"Yeah, he had a laptop he'd been monitoring the auction from."

She paused. "He's not watching the auction anymore?"

"Probably not. Too concerned with getting the hell out of here."

"Alright. Find out where he's headed." She hung up quickly. Her idea was quickly becoming more promising. _And it's not illegal…_

She smiled sweetly at Mozzie as she turned back around. "I know that face," he sighed. "I'm not going to like your idea, am I?"

"It's the best we've got to work with," she tried. "And this is our only chance to catch Keller."

"Just tell me." She explained under her breath.

The bidding had climbed up to $800,000. Mozzie shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "This is a lousy idea," he whined.

She gave him a pointed look. "Do it, Moz."

"These people don't take IOUs."

"Fair warning," Cattigan said from the podium, "I can sell for $800,000."

"Do it," she hissed.

Cattigan was about to end the bidding. Mozzie stood. "One million dollars," he called, voice cracking a little. All eyes were on Mozzie, and people muttered around them.

"Thank you, sir," Cattigan managed, stunned by the massive jump. "One million dollars and sold." He banged his gavel. People clapped politely.

Nora grinned up at him, patting him on the back as he sank back down into the chair. "What did you get us into?" Mozzie grumbled. She ignored him, pulling her phone back out and stepping away.

Peter answered immediately. "Peter, where are you?"

"Still in the garage," he explained. "What happened?"

"Won the bid."

"_What_?"

She'd expected that. _Why does nobody like my idea_? _It's not like they had anything better_. "Don't worry, I got a plan."

"You usually do," he allowed.

"What's the status on Keller?"

"Headquarters is monitoring his movements in real time from traffic cams. Looks like he's heading south on Park."

"South on Park," she echoed. _Of course…_ "Thanks." She hung up and headed back to Mozzie, still sitting nervously at his seat. "I know where Keller's going." She clapped him on the shoulder and took off. She had to move quick if she wanted to get there in time.


	39. Game Over

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Game Over

The helicopter landed. Nora saw Keller headed toward it, a bag slung over his shoulder. She walked up to greet him. "Bravo, Matthew," she called over the noise, offering him an exaggerated round of applause. "Seriously."

He came to a stop several feet away from her. Unlike the two other times they'd met, Nora wasn't afraid. Her hands didn't shake, her heart didn't pound. She won; what did she have to be afraid of?

"Wow," he mused. "So you came by to see me off, huh, Caffrey? How sweet of you. Who knew you were such a gracious loser?"

"I have to admit, using the real Ben Franklin bottle, did _not_ see that coming." He shrugged, feigning modesty, but it didn't touch his smug grin. _Can't wait to wipe it off his stupid face_. She flipped her hair. "Stroke of genius, really."

"Thanks." He looked her up and down briefly. "That actually means a lot coming from you. Too bad we can't go have a drink to celebrate, like old times." She ignored the bait. "So, I'm curious. How'd you find me?"

She glanced back at the helicopter. "Checked Sergei's travel plans."

"Ah."

"See he does it in style." Keller laughed a little. "I also hear he doesn't take it lightly when someone owes him money."

"_Owed_," he corrected. "As in past tense." He stepped a little closer. "Yeah, you see our little go-around with the bottle cleared my debts. In fact, I just got a text from my broker. Bottle went for seven figures." He was quite close to her by that point, just a foot or two of space between them. She had to look up to meet his eyes.

"Wow," she said, acting surprised. "Wow. Congratulations, man."

"Thank you. Thank you."

"So it was a two birds, one stone thing," she mused. "Humiliate me, turn a hefty profit while you're at it?"

He took another step closer, and she resisted the urge to back away. "Now you're catching on, Nora." He cupped her chin, leering down at her. Her skin crawled, but she pushed down her discomfort. _Just a little longer_. "Listen, I'd love to chat, sweetheart. But unless you got anything else, I should get going, alright?" He patted her twice on the cheek, just hard enough to make it sting a little before he pushed past her and headed for the helicopter. "Be good."

She spun around after him. "I haven't made my offer yet," she called after him.

He froze, glancing back at her. She smirked, and he checked his watch with a sigh. "This should be good," he decided.

"I'd like to offer you the opportunity to make a full confession for your crimes." He stared at her blankly. "The robbery of the Natural History Museum, the murder of Manuel Campos, anything else you want to add in."

He chuckled. "You know what? I was wrong. This isn't good. This is sad, honey." She faintly heard the squeal of tires behind her as Peter – she assumed – pulled up behind them. "This is a moment I'll cherish. Seeing you at your most desperate." He winked and started for the helicopter once more.

"The winner of the Franklin bottle." He stopped dead. "It wouldn't happen to be bidder number fifty-seven, would it?"

His eyes narrowed and she grinned at him. "Why?"

"Now, this is just awkward, but I don't have a million dollars." Peter, Lauren, and a handful of other agents were coming up behind Nora at this point. Keller smiled tightly, nodding as he realized that she'd out-foxed him. "Luckily, the auction house said they'd give me a week to put the money together."

"A week, huh? You know what? A week's not that long. I can buy that."

"Did you tell him I'm launching a full-blown federal investigation on the bottle?" Peter added. Keller glared at him.

"Oh, yeah! Yeah, there's that too. How long can a federal investigation go on for?"

"Not sure," Peter admitted. "Years."

"Oh, years, wow." She turned back to Keller, eyeing him pointedly. _Checkmate_.

"You bitch," he huffed. She'd backed him into a corner.

"How patient are Sergei and your Russian friends?" she asked.

He didn't answer. "You can take a helicopter ride and find out," Peter suggested. "Or you can come with us. Your choice."

He was silent for a moment, eyes not leaving Nora. "Well played," he allowed. He dropped his bag with a dull thud.

Her fake smile dropped and she regarded him with cold eyes. "Good game, Keller."

He laughed. "The game ain't over."

Peter seemed to disagreed. "Help the gentleman into the car," he told one of the agents behind him. He put his hands behind his back without a hint of resistance.

"Looks that way to me," she countered.

"Yeah? I mean, you were locked up, broke out." He shrugged lightly, not able to move too much due to the cuffs. "Maybe it's my turn to accept a challenge. Best two out of three." She didn't answer, just held his eyes. He smirked. "I'll see you around, Caffrey."

She took a step toward him, standing on her toes a little to reach his ear. "I'm counting the days," she spat. The agents led him away.

Upon seeing Keller's arrest, the helicopter pilot took off. "Poor Sergei's going home empty-handed," Peter joked, moving to pick up Keller's discarded bag. He squeezed Nora's shoulder quickly. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said, not sure if it was the truth or a lie. "I'm good." He nodded and followed Lauren back to the car.

Nora watched as Keller was put in the back of a black SUV. Her stomach rolled as the past few minutes hit her like a wave. She ran a hand through her hair, willing all the discomfort and anger she'd pushed down to subside.

She won. Keller was going away for a long time. She should have been happy, should have felt better… But, all at once, she realized that his arrest hadn't changed anything. She stayed where she was long after the feds rolled out, just staring out at the water while she tried to sort out her thoughts.

Mozzie came up beside her. "Did I miss Keller?" She nodded once. "Damn. I wanted to see him do the perp walk."

"Sorry," she sighed. "Good news is, he won't be bothering us for a while."

"How long is a while?"

"Maybe long enough to finish our chess game," she joked, offering a small smile.

"You think they have a prison that can hold him?" That was the million dollar question, wasn't it?

"I don't know," she admitted as she turned back toward the water, having a sinking suspicion that the answer was 'no.'

"Okay, so what's the bad news?" Mozzie continued.

"You won't be drinking a million-dollar bottle of wine tonight," she told him

He chuckled. "I'll live." He hesitated for a second. "How are you doing?"

She shrugged, not trying to avoid the question, just unsure how to answer it. She smoothed down her hair while she struggled for the right words. "I thought seeing him go down would make me feel better, but it didn't. I feel better that he's getting what's coming to him for killing Campos, and getting justice for his poor wife, but that's it. Thinking about that night still makes me feel sick to my stomach. I held it together for the take-down, but now I just want to go home and take a hot shower, have some wine, and just not think about it."

He studied her out of the corner of his eye. "I get the feeling you knew that's what would happen before you brought the suit in on this."

"Yeah, I guess I did." Mozzie seemed unable to think of anything meaningful to say. Instead, they stared out at the gentle waves for a moment in silence. "You were right," she told him, changing the subject. He raised an eyebrow. "I could use one less mystery in my life."

"Oh," he said slowly, looking rather sheepish. "I rescind that comment. There's suddenly been a lot of chatter about the music box." He met her eyes evenly. "You need to talk to Alex."

"She won't tell me anything while I work for the FBI."

"Then make it worth her while," he suggested. That, of course, would be easier said than done.


	40. Rice

Chapter Forty

Rice

Nora buried herself back into tracking down the box. In the weeks following Keller's arrest, she was unable to get a hold of Alex. Alex wanted nothing to do with her as long as she had the anklet, and she couldn't think of anything she could offer that would change Alex's mind.

She set up on the balcony before work, too worked up to eat breakfast, papers and books spread in front of her with notes she'd previously made. It was mind-numbing, and frustrating.

"Byron always got like that when he couldn't crack a hustle," June said softly, drawing Nora's attention. She'd been so engrossed, she hadn't heard June come in. Nora offered a small laugh. "Relaxing always helps."

"Sorry, June," she sighed, "I'm not really in the mood to relax."

"Not even if you have a visitor?" June glanced over her shoulder. Alex stood by the door.

"Alex," Nora muttered. Alex smiled at June as the woman made her way out the door and Nora stood to greet her. Paranoid as ever, Alex closed the door behind her.

"Got your message," she said, pacing into the room, like she had the last time she was there. "I'm here. What do you want, Nora?"

"I want the music box."

Alex crossed her arms. "I think you have a memory problem. Because, I said that as long as you're a fed, I'm not telling you where it is. You're still with them, right?" Nora shrugged. "Then there's nothing to talk about."

She started for the door, but Nora stepped in front of her. "I'll make it worth your while," she offered with a grin. "You need me to get it."

"No, I don't."

Nora raised an eyebrow. "Then why don't you have it already?" She didn't answer. "I'll steal it and give it to you."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Alex narrowed her eyes. "I don't believe you. You'll just hand it over?"

"Yeah," Nora agreed lightly. "When I'm done with it." It was, of course, a bold-faced lie. The music box was her leverage.

Realization lit Alex's face. "Knew there was a catch," she sighed, turning away. Alex fixed her with a hard look, one hand on her hip. "What's this really about?"

"You get the box in the end," Nora dodged. "That's my offer."

"Okay," Alex allowed. "If you figure out how to get the anklet off."

Nora rolled her eyes. "I'm not exactly wearing this 'cause it matches my shoes, Alex."

"Well, when the time comes, I need to know you can get off your leash. Otherwise, you're a liability." Nora stared at her blankly as Alex slung an arm over her shoulder. "I'll come back tomorrow at six. Lose the blinking jewelry and you'll get what you need."

Nora scowled after her as she headed out the door.

* * *

The elevator dinged, and finally, Nora stepped off. "You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago," he scolded. "Where you been?"

She waved him off. "Late start to the morning." He gave her a hard look, spying something out of place on her shoulder. "Won't happen again." Without a word, he pushed the glass door open for her. "Thank you."

As she stepped through, he snagged the thing that had caught his attention. A strand of hair that most certainly did not come off her head. It was too light and too short. He tucked the hair in his pocket before following her inside.

Her eyes were caught on someone upstairs with Hughes, a woman with bright red hair. "Who's that?"

"Kimberly Rice," he explained. "Rising star in the bureau."

"You're not a fan," she noted.

"Nope," he admitted. It was no secret that Peter did not care for the woman. Her methods just didn't sit right with him. "She works in kidnapping and missing persons."

"What's she doing in white collar?"

That was the kicker. "She's here to see you."

Her eyes grew wide. "Whatever I did, I have proof I didn't do it," she insisted.

Peter was spared having to worry about what she did or didn't do when Hughes and Rice walked out of the office. Hughes beckoned them up to the conference room. "Here we go," Peter sighed.

"We just got the finger point," she added.

"The double finger point."

"Must be serious."

"Yeah." They headed up the stairs. "Rice," Peter greeted curtly.

"Burke." Their feelings were clearly mutual. She turned her attention to Nora. "And you must be _the_ Nora Caffrey." She shook Nora's hand. "Agent Kimberly Rice."

"I've heard wonderful things about you," Nora lied.

"Let's get straight to it," Hughes began. "We've got a ransom situation."

"Name's Lindsey Gless," Rice continued, sliding a photo across the table. "She was grabbed last night in a home invasion. She's the daughter of Stuart Gless."

Nora pursed her lips. "As in the CEO of Atlantic Partners," Peter supplied. "The company whose bonds you were convicted of forging."

Nora shifted, twirling a curl around a finger. "What's this kidnapping got to do with me?"

"You have a history with our prime suspect," Rice explained.

"Ryan Wilkes," Hughes said, passing a file to Peter. He glanced over it quickly. "You know him?"

Nora hesitated. "Nora," Peter prompted.

"Yeah," she admitted. "Yeah. He runs his own little crime syndicate. They work everything from grand theft auto to extortion."

"And you used to run with him," Rice added.

"That's a rumor," she allowed.

"Nora."

She rolled her eyes. "We _may_ have tried working together once," she amended with a shrug. "But our styles didn't mesh."

"What makes you think Wilkes took the girl?" Peter asked.

"Chatter from our CIs puts Wilkes in town," Rice told him. "We also found traces of plasticine clay in a lock at the crime scene."

"Someone made a copy of the key," Peter guessed.

"It's Wilkes' M.O. That's why we need Nora."

Peter shared a look with his CI. She didn't look too thrilled, but that was hardly relevant. "Nora."

"Stuart Gless likes to eat lunch at Restorante Laurienzo every Thursday. At least, he used to." This was met with blank looks, as neither Rice nor Hughes saw the relevance in that. "There's only one valet there," she clarified. "Makes it easy to get your hands on his keys. If Wilkes wanted in his house, he'd start there. I'd check their security tapes."

"That's good," Rice acknowledged. "That's good. I'd like to borrow Caffrey for the remainder of my case."

_Like hell_. "If Wilkes is behind this, don't you think it's dangerous to put Caffrey on his trail?"

Hughes rubbed his temple. "Caffrey's proven she can take care of herself." Peter shot a glance back at Nora, and she offered a small shrug to brush off Peter's concern. "Nora, starting immediately, you report to Agent Rice."

Rice smiled. "Alright, great. Now that we're all on the same page, let's start with an easy one. When's the last time you saw Wilkes?"

Nora considered this for a moment, fiddling with her necklace idly. "Probably when he tried to kill me."

* * *

"We pulled the security tapes for Restorante Laurienzo," Rice explained as they made their way into Gless' house, where agents still milled about looking for evidence. After Nora's revelation that Wilkes had tried to kill her, Peter had tried to get Hughes to reconsider, but to no avail and Nora was stuck with Rice. "Got a positive ID on Wilkes. Nice work."

"Thanks," she muttered. Though she had put on a nonchalant face when talking with Hughes and Rice at the office, Nora decided she would have rather worked just about any other case. Not only did their suspect have a grudge against her, so did the victim's father.

Rice was sharp, almost as much as Peter. "Something eating you?" she asked.

"No, it's just the last time I saw Gless, he was on the witness stand at my trial explaining why I was able to beat his company's unbeatable bond." Nora followed Rice up the stairs, fidgeting with her curls as they walked. "I'm sure it didn't do wonders for his reputation."

Rice stopped in her tracks, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "The man lost his daughter, okay," she huffed. "You want his forgiveness, help get her back." Forgiveness wasn't exactly what was on Nora's mind, but she couldn't exactly put into words what unsettled her so much about the case. Something about it was just putting her on edge. Maybe it was just too many old 'friends' popping up at one time.

Not to mention Alex. Nora still had no clue how she was getting her anklet off by six o'clock the next evening, but that was the only way she was going to get the music box.

Rice was looking at her pointedly. Nora just nodded and they continued up the stairs into what Nora presumed was Mr. Gless' office. The man had his back to them as they entered. He didn't turn around when he addressed them. "Miss Caffrey. Been a long time."

"Mr. Gless, I just want you to know-"

He didn't give her a chance to finish. "Agent Rice thinks you can find the people who took Lindsay." He finally turned around, meeting her eyes evenly. "That's good enough for me."

"Could you please just take us through what happened one more time?" Rice prompted.

Gless started pacing. He looked worn down with sadness, face creased and eyes clouded. "I came home from the office," he explained, taking a seat, shoulders slumped. "Everything in Lindsay's room was knocked down. She was gone. Then he called. I told him I want proof she's okay. That's it."

"Did he give you any way to get in contact with him?" Nora asked.

"No, he, uh..."

"He just hung up without giving you his demands?"

"Would you mind excusing us for a moment?" Rice asked suddenly, with a tight smile. "Nora, may I have a word please?"

_Am I in trouble?_ Nora wondered as Rice led her out of the room. She racked her brain, trying to figure out what she did, but couldn't think of anything. She'd just asked a question.

Once out of Gless' earshot, she rounded on Nora, tight smile gone. "What was that?" she demanded.

"Sorry, what-?" Nora was dumbfounded, reminded very much of a particular elementary school teacher who'd had very little patience for Nora's childhood antics.

"Remind me again, how much training do you have interviewing parents of a kidnapping victim?"

"You brought me into this," Nora reminded her, indignant at being scolded like a child. Especially when she'd done nothing wrong.

"To consult," Rice snapped. "Not to take the lead with my witness."

"Your witness? Sorry, I thought we were on the same team."

Rice didn't look amused. "Why don't we get something clear, right here, right now? You're a tool in my belt." Nora raised an eyebrow. "Understand?"

_Oh, I understand_, she thought darkly. _I understand perfectly why Peter doesn't like you_. "Tool in your belt," Nora agreed with as pleasant a smile as she could manage. "Got it."

"You will listen and observe. If I ask you to do anything, you do it. If I have a question, answer it."

"What if I have a question?"

"Then you run it by me," she said as if it should have been obvious. "But you do not, under any circumstance address my witness."

"Oh, God, sounds like a really great deal," Nora muttered. "But I think it'll work better if you treat me more like a partner. See, the way Peter and I do it-"

"I don't care how you and Peter do it," Rice said flatly. "I care how you and Agent Rice do it."

"I just wanna help find his daughter."

"You wanna help?" Nora smiled. "Well, then keep your mouth shut unless I ask you to open it, okay?" She pushed past Nora, heading back toward Gless' office.

"Oh," Nora said, raising her hand. She could hear Rice's footsteps stop.

"What?"

She spun around to see Rice's withering glare. "Permission to speak?"

"_What_?"

Nora put her hand down. "You haven't found any of Wilkes' prints around the house, have you?" She didn't give Rice the chance to speak, already knowing the answer. "See, he likes to use found items from the target location to cover his tracks. Why don't you check the rubber gloves under the kitchen sink?"

Rice didn't look impressed. "You have any more brilliant ideas rumbling around that head of yours?"

Nora thought for a moment. "No, I think that's it for now," she decided.

"Good. Then go wait in the car." She spun on her heel and returned to talk to Gless. Nora scowled after her. _Sure, punish me for doing exactly what you told me to do. Heaven forbid I do what you brought me here to do_.

She went out to the car, partially frustrated at how she was being treated and partially relieved to get away from Rice, if even for just a few minutes.


	41. Gate Crashing

Chapter Forty-One

Gate Crashing

Peter went home to spend lunch with El for a change, since Nora was taken by Rice. He still wasn't happy about the situation, especially given the revelation that Wilkes had tried to kill her in the past. Hughes had refused to budge under Peter's protests that it wasn't safe, insisting that simply investigating the case wouldn't put her in danger.

"So I told him," El continued, telling a story Peter found himself only half listening to, "if we have that many people in the gallery, he has to do something about the A/C. Of course he didn't, and by ten o'clock it was like a sauna in there…. So I told him I would spend the night with him for a million dollars." Peter nodded blankly, not having really heard what she was saying. "I'd have to run it by my husband first. But honey, it's a million dollars. What do you think?"

Peter glanced over at her, realizing that he didn't know what she was talking about. Her tone had been upbeat, so he went by that. "I think… I think that's great." She smirked, close to laughter as she nodded slowly. "I don't think that's great," he backpedaled. "Wh- what did you ask me?"

"Okay, admit it, you're worried about Nora."

"No, I am not worried about Nora," he sighed. "Let's… let's just have a nice, quiet lunch without talking about her, alright?" He took a bite of his sandwich. "Oh, that's a nice deviled ham right there."

El was not buying it. "What's the problem?" she asked flatly.

"Oh," he groaned, "something feels wrong about this case. I don't trust Rice."

"Rice?" Peter realized he'd never mentioned the agent to El.

"Kimberly Rice," he explained. "She's some hotshot from another division. She's Nora's handler on this one."

"Well, honey, if you're worried, go down and check it out," she suggested, as if it was that simple.

"Yeah, it's bad form to crash another agent's crime scene."

She shrugged. "That's never stopped you before." She was right, as always. _Maybe if I just pop by on my way back to the office…_

* * *

Nora leaned back in the seat, eyes closed. She'd been staying up late trying to find the music box, she figured a nap would be about as productive as anything else she could do cooped up in the car. Sleep wasn't coming, however. She was still annoyed by how condescending Rice had been, and still uneasy about the case as a whole.

A soft tapping pulled her from her thoughts. She was surprised to see Peter peering down at her. She rolled the window down. "Peter," she beamed. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Oh, I had a case in the neighborhood," he lied. She knew his caseload well enough to know that was a load of crap. "Thought I'd drop by."

"Uh-huh," she teased. "I'm touched. You can't handle being apart from me."

"No," he argued.

"So this has nothing to do with looking over Rice's shoulder?"

"No, don't read into it." He opted to change the subject. "How's it going with Rice? I see she's got you babysitting the car."

She scowled at nothing in particular. "She called me a tool in her belt."

Peter laughed a little. "I bet you're really starting to miss working with me now."

"No," she lied, examining her nails idly. "No. But I could stretch my legs." He opened the door for her. "Thank you."

Peter glanced around for a moment. "While we're out here and you're stretching your legs, wouldn't hurt to look around."

"No," she agreed.

"You know Wilkes' M.O. How would he handle an operation like this?"

"A home invasion?" She considered it for a moment, leaning against the car and twirling a curl around her finger. "Theoretically, he'd have a driver, a strongman, and a lookout. Wilkes wouldn't trust anyone else to grab the girl. He'd handle that himself."

"So he's the strongman," Peter mused. "Commendable." He took a look around. "That leaves the driver right outside there. Now, where was the lookout?"

"Sight lines are clean from there," she explained, pointing to the park on her left, "and there," to an alley on her right.

"So you'd get better cover in the park," Peter noted.

"Yeah," she allowed, "but the alley gives you eyes on both sides of the street and the intersection." She started for the alley.

"Let's go there," he agreed. A flight of worn concrete stairs led down into a dark alley. A piece of discarded paper sat a few steps down.

"Yeah, somebody's been here," she commented. "Looking both directions."

"Making sure the coast is clear." Nora crouched down as he moved down to pick up the paper with a handkerchief. He held it up for her to see. "Coat check stub. No name or address. I'll get it to ERT, see if they can recognize it."

"Don't bother," she dismissed, recognizing it at a glance. "It's from a club. More like an underground casino. It's one of Wilkes' old hangouts."

"Nice of them to leave this behind for us." That didn't sit right with Nora. Wilkes would never be that sloppy, or let his crew be that sloppy. She couldn't imagine that would have changed over the past several years.

"God, where's Caffrey?" Nora heard behind her.

"Oh, look," Peter muttered. She didn't need to look to know Rice was storming up to them. They moved to go meet her. "This oughta be fun."

"You find gloves?" Nora asked innocently.

"There's a fresh print inside the index finger," she allowed, holding up an evidence baggie before handing it off to the agent next to her. "I want this pulled and sent to me ASAP." She rounded back on Peter, hands clasped in front of her, once again reminding Nora of an angry teacher. "What do you think you're doing here, Agent Burke?"

"Helping you solve your case. Somebody spent some time watching from over there. And dropped this," he added, holding up the stub, "which, according to my source, came from an underground club."

"Then that's our next stop," Rice said tightly.

"No," Nora argued. "No, Wilkes won't be there with the girl. If the FBI shows up, he'll go to ground and cut his losses."

"So why don't you put on your dancing shoes, Caffrey? You're going clubbing." Nora's stomach dropped. That sounded like a horrible idea. "And, Peter, next time I find you on my scene, I'm filing a report."

"You can't tell right now," Peter said dryly, "but deep down, I'm petrified." Nora smirked as Rice pointedly plucked the stub from his hand and headed back toward the car.

Nora followed dutifully, but not without a glance back at Peter, who looked quite pleased with himself. "Nice," she mouthed back at him.

* * *

Nora chose a light blue pencil skirt and matching blouse for her night clubbing, with matching pumps. Mozzie watched as she worked on straightening her hair in front of the mirror while she caught him up to speed. "You're letting the pants suit use you as bait to catch Wilkes?" he summarized, voice edged with concern. "Doesn't that strike you as insane?"

"I'm going to a club," she protested. "The feds will be right outside."

"This is the same Wilkes that wants you dismembered, right?"

She cast a dry look at him over her shoulder. "Dismembered is slightly overstating it. You're being paranoid."

In reality, her stomach rolled as she got ready. She didn't want to see Wilkes any more than Mozzie wanted her to, but the night wouldn't be without its benefits. If she was going into the club, that meant no anklet. No anklet meant Alex would help her. It was a calculated risk.

"Paranoia is a skill," he insisted, "the secret to longevity." She finished up the last strand of hair. It now fell sleek, shiny, and smooth down to her lower back. Mozzie continued as she started to put on a final layer of lipstick. "Did you not join Wilkes' crew, gather intel from his targets, and then totally screw him over?"

"They were planning to hurt people," she protested. "With guns. I don't like guns." Mozzie sighed, realizing he wasn't getting anywhere. "For all we know, Wilkes is on his way to Tahiti right now."

"For all we know, he's sharpening his talons to tear into your spleen."

She rolled her eyes, pulling on a blazer. "Thanks for your concern, Moz, but this little field trip is my best chance to get the anklet removed. Alex won't talk to me about the music box while it's on."

"Oh, you professional thieves," he mocked, "so high-maintenance. I'm washing my hands of this."

Nora's phone beeped, a text from Rice, who was waiting outside. "Rice is here," she muttered. "Duty calls."

"I get the apartment," he called after her. _Always so overdramatic._


	42. Clubbing

Chapter Forty-Two

Clubbing

They came to a stop across the street from the club, watching in silence for a moment. "You know, you kept me waiting outside that rich lady's house for half an hour," Rice told her.

Nora knew perfectly well how long she kept Rice waiting. "You can't rush style, Agent Rice."

She chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Took me less time to get ready for my wedding." Nora raised an eyebrow. "It didn't take," she sighed, holding up a ringless hand.

"I'm not surprised," Nora muttered without thinking. Rice gave her a withering look. "Statistically speaking."

Rice rolled her eyes. "Okay, it's time for you to go fishing, Caffrey."

Nora pulled her foot up onto the seat, anklet exposed for all to see in the skirt. She looked at Rice expectantly. "Unless you'd rather I go in like this."

Rice pulled a pair of scissors out of the center console. "Cut it. I'm not an idiot." Nora took the scissors. "Go on, lose it."

She snipped the band, and the anklet started beeping. "There you go," Nora said, handing it over. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and climbed out of the car, pushing down her misgivings as well as she could. _That's one problem solved, I suppose_.

* * *

Peter tried to make himself busy, tried to keep his mind off his concern about Nora's safety. All he knew was that Rice was sending her into the club to see what she could find out. He hated being out of the loop. Even though he knew it wouldn't help, he pulled up Nora's tracking data. At least he could keep _some_ kind of watch on her, even if it was pointless.

As he flipped through files at the table, the computer started beeping. He rushed over, confused at what he saw. She'd cut her anklet.

"Jones," he called out the open door. Jones was at the top of the stairs speaking to another agent.

"Yeah?" Jones said, excusing himself from the other agent.

"Caffrey just removed her anklet."

Jones didn't look concerned or surprised. "Yeah, Rice cleared it," he explained. _And no one bothered to tell me_?

"Rice?" That didn't sit well with Peter. He glanced down to where Stuart Gless stood by the coffee machine while he waited for news of the undercover job. He made his way down the stairs and offered the man a cup of coffee.

"Mr. Gless, right?" he asked as he poured. Gless just nodded. "I'm Agent Peter Burke. How are you holding up?"

"Oh, had to get out of the house," the man sighed. "Agent Rice said I could wait here." He took a seat at the break area table.

"Of course," Peter agreed, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"I didn't expect Caffrey to be so charming," he huffed. "This would be so much easier if she acted like a criminal."

Peter chuckled. She certainly had her moments. "Yeah, of course," Peter said lightly.

"I just hope this goes right."

Clearly, Gless had more information than Peter had. He took a seat across from the man. "If it helps, I can walk you through it. What are you worried about most?"

"The meeting," Gless explained.

"The meeting." It was the first he was hearing of any meeting. "What troubles you about that?"

"The kidnapper calls, then asks for a meeting with Caffrey in exchange for Lindsay?" Peter's stomach dropped into his shoes. "That seems too easy."

"Yeah." Anger boiled up inside Peter. Rice was using Nora as bait. Nora, who wasn't supposed to be getting involved with Wilkes beyond investigating the case. That wasn't the way the FBI did things. "Excuse me."

* * *

The front gate was locked. Not one to be deterred by something so petty, Nora made her way around back. It was dimly lit. Nora was having trouble burying her discomfort. She'd gone undercover tons of times. And, even before the FBI, she'd gone into plenty of dangerous meets. This one made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

She ducked into an alley and started down along the side of the building. Her phone started ringing, making her jump slightly. "Peter," she answered, "I'm kinda in the middle of something right now, okay?"

"You need to get out of there right now," he said, voice urgent. She froze. She knew Rice had been light on the details Peter got, so what could he have to be worried about?

"What are you talking about?"

"Nora, _you're_ the ransom."

She didn't get a change to answer. Or move. Pain lanced through her neck, spasming through the rest of her body in a wave. She felt her muscles seize and the ground came rushing up toward her. "Nora?" she heard Peter call from the phone still clutched in her hand. "Nora!"

Her head hit the ground with a _thunk._ The edges of her vision started to go dark. She couldn't see. Hands were hauling her up roughly. Then there was nothing.

* * *

Peter had been right. His gut feeling that something about the case was off, that Nora was in danger had been right. It didn't take too long before Rice stepped out of the elevator. Another agent walked with her. "We have a silver van leaving the club," the other agent explained, "no plate. Chase car lost it in traffic."

"Okay, listen up, people," Rice called, clapping her hands together. "For the foreseeable future, you belong to me." Anger rolled through him as she tried to come into his division and order around his staff after getting his CI kidnapped. He stormed out of his office. "I need traffic feeds from here to Yankee Stadium."

"You sold her out so you could get your picture in the paper," Peter spat, not caring a bit that other agents were watching. "You hung Nora out to dry for a gold star on your resume."

She glared daggers at him as he came to a stop in front of her. "You better watch it, Burke."

He had no intention of watching it. "When we found that coat check stub for the club, you already knew what was going down there, didn't you?" She huffed, but didn't correct him. "But you kept your mouth shut so everything could go according to plan."

Hughes stepped between them, having apparently noticed the hostility. "What's going on here?" he asked, eyeing them both pointedly.

Peter didn't give her the chance to answer. "She made a backroom deal with Wilkes. The girl in exchange for Nora."

Hughes' brow furrowed. "Rice, that true?"

She sucked in a breath. "A man we believe to be Wilkes contacted Gless. He said that he would _give Lindsay back_ if he could have a face-to-face with Caffrey."

"A face-to-face?" Peter scoffed. "And you really think Wilkes would make good on that?"

"It was our one shot to get a lead on Wilkes and follow him back to the girl," she protested. "I had agents all over that street."

Peter gave her a hard look. "And how did that work out for you?"

"Did you get any leads?" Hughes demanded. He might not have liked Nora much, but he certainly wouldn't have agreed to lend Nora to Rice if he'd known the plan was to hand her over to a man that wanted her dead.

Rice's scowled. "Wilkes made the grab in our one operational blind spot.

Hughes rubbed him temple, drawing in a deep breath. "Then you're no longer in charge," he told her flatly. "Peter, you're officially a part of this show." Rice started to object. "I don't want to hear it, Rice. You report to Burke until you find Caffrey and that girl." He headed back toward the stairs. Peter glared at Rice for a moment longer before following after him.


	43. Itinerary

Chapter Forty-Three

Itinerary

The first thing Nora became aware of was the throbbing in her head. Every breath sent a wave of pain pounding through her skull. Her stomach rolled and lurched as she rocked in the momentum of what she realized was a speeding vehicle. She tried to take deep breaths, willing herself not to puke. There was a blindfold over her eyes. Between the headache, the nausea, and the movement of the car, she was felt disoriented.

Someone must have realized she was awake. The blindfold was ripped off, and light stabbed her eyes, sending spikes of pain through her temples. "Top of the morning to you," a man's voice greeted cheerfully as she flinched away from the brightness. She managed to pry her eyes open a crack and saw Wilkes standing over her. "Monster headache, right? It'll pass."

She was in the back of a van. Another man sat in the corner, watching silently. The inside was bare-bones, just metal and plastic lining. "Wilkes," she muttered, realizing he was waiting for her to say something. She couldn't think of anything more to say through the pain.

"Seeing you again, Nora, brings back all these old feelings." He stared at her for a second. And punched her in the stomach. She yelped in pain, folding in over her herself, while she coughed and sputtered.

The pain ebbed away and she leaned back. "If you wanted to meet for lattes, you could've just called," she managed.

He was crouched down next to her, face serious, all business. "This way's better," he insisted. "Pretty good, right? Had the fed snip your anklet off for me. She handed you over on a platter."

"That's great," Nora said dryly. "You're a lock for kidnapper of the year."

"Mm," he mused, "that old Caffrey wit. I love it. We could have been something. Thunder and lightning." He shook his head slowly. "But then you had to go a rip for off for, what? Five hundred grand?"

_I get the feeling he's still angry_. "I'll write you a check," she said lightly.

He grabbed her by the chin. "Normally, I kill people for that sort of thing."

"But?" she tried hopefully.

"But, today's you're lucky day," he said, letting go of her chin. "You get to make it up to me."

"Look, man," she said softly, "what about Lindsay? You got me, just let her go."

"Not yet." The van squealed to a stop. "I'm gonna open these doors. You run or yell, I shoot you. And then I'll shoot the girl." She knew from experience that he wasn't bluffing. He signaled to the other man, who moved to open the door. "Let's get started."

She climbed out of the van after him. The light outside was brighter, but the headache was beginning to subside. She flattened her hair as they walked. It had started to curl again at the ends. She followed Wilkes onto a bustling street. They hadn't left the city.

He pointed to a building across the street. "Agency booked travel for a gentleman by the name of Thomas Loze," he explained. "He's on his way into the country right now. I need his itinerary. Flight, car service, hotel." He smirked at her. "Smile. It's a chance to put that silver tongue of yours to good use."

She stared at him blankly. "All this trouble to have me infiltrate a travel agency. What's your angle?" He didn't answer. It slowly dawned on her. "Oh. I'm your front man, right?. You don't wanna end up on the surveillance cameras."

"You always were quick." She rolled her eyes. "Oh, and one more thing. Since we have a lot to do today, it's important you know how serious I am from the jump. See her?" He pointed at the woman at the front desk inside the travel agency. "Her name's Kathy, career receptionist. Kinda lady no one'll miss, except a couple of her kids."

Nora swallowed hard. He spun around. "On that roof," he continued, pointing up at a building behind him, "is my friend Jim." She could see a man at the top. "Jim has a sniper rifle aimed at Kathy. I give him the word, bang. Lights out." He pulled a phone out of his pocket, one of the ones with a walkie talkie function. "Wave at Nora, Jim." The man on the roof waved.

Falling back on her tendency to use humor to keep herself calm in tense situations, she waved back. "And don't think you can borrow her phone and call for help," Wilkes warned. "Be a sweetheart. Help the lady out."

"I'll get your information, okay?" she sighed.

"But will I get it in two minutes?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You're putting me on a clock? Look, I can convince her, I just need some time."

He shrugged. "You don't have it. Busy day." He checked his phone. "One minute, fifty-two seconds and counting."

"Alright, I'm going." She started across the street, pulling off her blazer and dropping it behind her. She untucked her blouse a little and ran her fingers thought her hair to untangle it a little. The refection in the glass showed a haggard, disheveled woman.

She rushed in. "Hi, there," she greeted. "How you doing?"

Kathy looked up from her computer. "I'm fine." She returned her gaze to the screen.

"My name's Nat Halden," Nora lied. "I'm an assistant with Level One Concierge Services."

She smiled up at Nora. "How can I help you, Nat Halden from Level One Concierge Services?"

"Oh, we got a big client coming to town, Thomas Loze. You booked his travel. I need to make a week's worth of five-star dinner reservations for him, only I misplaced his itinerary." Nora chuckled nervously. "And, I blow another account, I'm toast, so..."

"So it sounds like you need to find a new line of work, Nat."

Nora's face fell. "Come again?"

Kathy glanced over her shoulder for a moment before pulling off her headset. She leaned in close to Nora. "You know, people like you really piss me off. You waltz in here and expect me to do something that would get me fired?" She shook her head. "I don't think so. But have a nice day."

As Kathy pulled the headset back on and returned to her computer, Nora saw the laser dot appear on her forehead, courtesy of Jim. The clock was ticking. "Please," she plead, glancing down at the decorations on Kathy's desk for any idea on how to get Kathy to feel bad enough for her. "Please… Kathy. I really need this, okay?"

Kathy pursed her lips. "I said, 'have a nice day.'"

"Okay," Nora breathed. "Okay." She could feel sweat drip down the back of her neck as she turned back toward the door. She could see Jim still standing at the top of the room, rifle aimed down at Kathy. "And that is exactly what I'm gonna tell my son when I explain to him why Mommy lost her job." She made her voice crack, willing her eyes to fill with tears. They came very easily. "'Cause Mommy's a failure."

She put a hand to her mouth, sniffling a little before turning back to the desk. "I'm gonna level with you, Kathy. I don't enjoy catering to guys who spend more on a bottle of Courvoisier than I make in a year, but it's all I got." She could see Kathy's resolve starting to crumble. "But who am I to think that I can do this job and raise a five-year-old all by myself?" She dabbed at the tears trailing down her cheek.

"And now I gotta tell Joey we're going back to Cedar Rapids," she continued. "It's gonna break his heart. But kids bounce back, though. You know, they're tough."

"Cedar Rapids?"

"Yeah."

"I'm from Iowa City," Kathy told her. "U of I, '88."

Nora managed a weak smile. "No kidding." _No one could ever tell by looking at your desk_.

Kathy glanced over her shoulder once more, covering the mic on her headset. "You said Thomas Loze, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." She started typing.

Nora sniffled. "Thank you so much. You have no idea what this means to me." She glanced over her shoulder, spying an ad displayed near the window. _That's one way to send a message_. "Kathy, while you're at it, I might know someone who's interested in your rewards program."

"Okay." Kathy got the itinerary, and Nora got her the information for the rewards program. Nora left her, not knowing she had ever been in any danger.

Wilkes was waiting exactly where Nora had left him. She handed over the itinerary. "'Atta girl. Kathy's children thank you. You ready for round two?"

Nora glared at him. "I don't think I'm up for round two."

"That would be an ill-advised life choice," he warned.

"Why?" she asked lightly. "You'll kill me?"

"Don't test me, Nora."

She shrugged, crossing her arms. "Tell your friend Jim to put that red dot on my head and pull the trigger if you don't think I'm serious," she challenged. He needed her for something he wasn't willing – or able – to do himself. Nora wasn't going to play his games without proof that Lindsay was still even alive.

Wilkes sighed. "It's like I'm talking Mandarin. How about I kick things off by killing me sweet little hostage?"

Nora narrowed her eyes, leaning in toward him. "I'm starting to wonder if you even have Lindsay."

Wilkes considered this for a moment. He motioned Jim, and Nora turned to see him move away from the edge of the roof. "Why don't we take a break," he offered, "let you think about this? Last thing I want you to do is… drag your heels." The van screeched to a stop next to them and the door slid open. "Please. Get in."

She did as she was asked. As soon as the door slid shut, Wilkes shoved her, and she slid to the floor. "Where we going?" she tried.

"You talk too much. Taze this woman again," he told the other man.

She held up her hands defensively. "That's really not nec-" The taser pressed against her arm, sending fresh pain swelling through her.


	44. Round Two

Chapter Forty-Four

Round Two

Peter had the team set up in the conference room. So far, there hadn't been much to go on. He still had no clue where Wilkes had taken Nora, or where he was keeping Lindsay. Rice walked into the room to join them. "I've got BOLOs out on your van description," he told her. "NYPD is canvasing the area where Nora was taken."

She held up a CD she had in her hand. "We just found this in Gless' mail." Peter rushed around the table to grab it. "It was sent _before_ Caffrey was taken." He popped it into the DVD player and switched on the TV.

A video of Lindsay displayed on the monitor. She was holding a newspaper. "Hi, Daddy," she said. "I'm okay, but you need to do what they ask. Now. Or I won't be okay. I love you." The video stopped.

"Alright, everybody," Peter said, starting it back at the beginning, "watch it again. Anything jumps out at you, call it."

He pressed play and they all watched intently. "Place is falling where it stands," Jones noted. "Crack on the wall, funky windows."

"Pre-Civil War construction," Peter added.

A sound played in the background. "You hear that?" Rice asked.

"Foghorn," he mused. But that wasn't quite it. "No, tugboat horn. Let's get it isolated. We know she's by the water."

"There are more than five hundred miles of waterfront in the New York area," Rice reminded him.

Peter turned to address the team. "I want search teams on the ground now. Everybody sweeping and canvassing and waterfront structure with cracked walls or funky windows." The rushed out to carry out his orders, leaving Peter alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Nora was shoved down unceremoniously onto a concrete floor, her shoulder and hip taking most of the impact. She groaned, pushing herself onto her hands and knees. "Hey, you okay?" a soft voice whispered as she attempted to sit up. Lindsay.

"Yeah," Nora assured her quickly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Didn't even hurt." Nora turned and slumped back against a brick wall. Lindsay was huddled around herself, sitting against a pillar. "Lindsay?"

"Yeah," the girl said. "Who are you?"

Nora cast a glance at the man, who milled around a table several feet away. "My name is Nora Caffrey," she whispered. "I'm with the FBI. I'm here to help you."

"Really?" She didn't look too reassured. "Who's gonna help you?"

Nora hesitated. "I'll admit, not the greatest rescue."

"But the FBI knows we're here, right?"

"No," Nora admitted, and Lindsay's face fell. "But, the best agent the bureau has got is looking for us."

"Really?"

"Yes, trust me. If there is anyone in the world who can find me, it's him." Lindsay nodded, seeming to be comforted by this. Nora glanced back at the man at the table. He was slurping down Chinese takeout. "Nice manners," she called, earning a glare from him. "You know, you should chew your food."

Lindsay giggled. "It's pretty foul, right?"

"Yeah."

She leaned in closer. "He burps _when_ he swallows."

"Lovely," Nora joked. At least Lindsay was in good spirits. And it didn't look like they'd hurt her. But Nora spied a gun on the table, complete with a silencer. Wilkes was serious about killing her if Nora didn't get him whatever it was he wanted.

* * *

With teams out searching, Peter did what he could to try and narrow down their search area. It was slow going. While he studied a map, his phone rang. He stepped into his office to answer. "Hey, hon."

"Okay, you need to come home," she told him urgently. "We have a visitor."

"Oh, I'm sorry sweetie, but I'm right in the middle of something now," he sighed. He hadn't had the heart to tell her about what happened to Nora, knowing she would worry.

"Right," she allowed, "well, I think your something is connected to the someone who showed up at our front door."

"What? Who's there?"

"Mozzie," she explained. "And he's pretty worked up." Of course he would have noticed Nora was missing, but he didn't have time to worry about him.

"That's his normal state," Peter sighed.

"I think it's important," she insisted.

"If it's that important, tell him to come to the office."

"Mozzie in the FBI headquarters?" she scoffed.

"Ha!" he heard the little guy bark from somewhere away from the phone.

"Yeah, he's not going."

Peter sighed. "Honey, I don't have time."

"It's about Nora."

"I'm on my way," he decided. He hung up and grabbed the jacket off the back of his chair. On his way out, he told Jones he would be back soon, and to let him know if anything came up.

Peter felt like he barely pulled his foot off the gas pedal on the way home. Nora would have criticized his reckless driving if she'd been with him. He swallowed down a lump, pushing that line of thought away.

He parked somewhat askew outside the house and rushed in without bothering to correct it. "Honey?" he called.

"In here," she returned from the dining room. "You know, Mozzie still won't tell me what he does for a living. Do you know?"

"I know enough not to ask," he huffed, coming to a stop next to her. He didn't have time for chit-chat and turned to the little guy at the opposite end of the table. "Why are you here?"

"I received this," he said, sliding his cellphone across the table.

Peter read it quickly. "'Elite Voyages. Come frolic with us.'" He didn't see what was so significant about that.

"Look at the email address," Mozzie prompted.

"Dante Haversham," Peter muttered. _Okay, maybe it does have to do with my something_.

"Remember the alias I gave when Nora introduced us?" he asked. "See, some things _do _have secret meanings."

"I believe you on this one," El agreed. "Is Nora okay?"

"I don't know," Mozzie admitted. "That's a distress signal."

Peter pulled out his phone, silently thanking whoever could have been listening that Nora was so good at thinking on her feet. "Jones," he said when the agent picked up. "I think I may have a lead. Go to Elite Voyages Travel Agency. See if they can identify a photo of Nora, and pull their security footage."

* * *

Nora spent the time entertaining Lindsay with some stories from her exploits with the FBI, and even a couple from on the run _from_ them. Nothing incriminating, just some light-hearted stuff to try and keep Lindsay calm and not focused on their situation.

"You don't look like a criminal," Lindsay joked. "Did you really counterfeit Daddy's bonds?"

"I did," Nora admitted. "Spent four years in prison for it."

"And the guy who caught you, you said he's looking for us?"

Nora smiled. "He's already found me twice. What's once more?"

"Do you regret the things you've done?"

Nora was spared having to answer that by Wilkes, walking in slowly, followed by a half dozen other men. Nora sat up straight, jaw set firmly. Wilkes didn't speak immediately, pulling on a pair of black gloves. "So," he finally said. "You've met Lindsay. Now are you gonna join me for round two, or does it get ugly?"

Nora glanced down at Lindsay and sighed. "What's round two?"

"Why would I want to ruin the surprise? In or out?" Nora pushed herself to her feet.

"Let's get this over with." Wilkes smiled, turning back the way he came. Nora bent over and squeezed Lindsay on the shoulder reassuringly before following after him. Whatever round two was, she got the distinct impression she was running out of rounds to work with.

They didn't taze Nora that time, which she supposed was progress. Since she had no idea where they had been, it was impossible for her to get her bearings in the back of the van as it turned this way and that. She stopped trying. A heap of black clothes sat in front of Wilkes, but he didn't seem to feel the need to explain.

The van pulled to a stop, but Wilkes didn't get out immediately. Nora eyed him cautiously as he started to speak. "I spent a great deal of money making sure Mr. Loze's limo gets quietly sidetracked."

The clothes started to make sense. "Let me guess," she said dryly, "I'm his new driver."

"He'll be carrying a titanium briefcase," he explained. "Your job is to take it."

She raised an eyebrow. "Any suggestions how I do that?" He held up a handgun. Guns just seemed to be his go-to for any problem. "Come on, man," she sighed, "you know I don't like guns." He pulled out the clip and flicked out all the bullets before replacing it. "I really don't like unloaded guns." She took it anyway.

He pulled a slip of paper out of his breast pocket. "Be at this address by four, and our business is complete. I'll tell you where I'm keeping the girl and we go our separate ways." Somehow, she doubted it would really be that simple. "But, be a minute late, or call your fed friends, and I make a call. And Lindsay..." He shrugged. "Well, you know what happens to Lindsay."

"Your not gonna stick around for the show?"

"On this one… I'll keep my distance." He pressed the chauffeur hat into her hands. "You should get ready," he told her, motioning to the rest of the outfit.

She gave him a pointed look. "Do you mind?" He stared at her blankly, and she just crossed her arms. "I'm not changing with you staring at me. It's not like I can go anywhere."

Not breaking eye contact, he stood slowly and slid the door open. He and his man climbed out and it slammed shut behind them. She leaned back against the wall, taking a moment to try and clear her mind. She hoped Mozzie got the message to Peter, and wondered if it had been enough.

With a sigh, she stood and started slowly changing her clothes. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the buttons. Not out of fear, but hunger. She hadn't eaten since the night before. That, coupled with adrenaline made it hard to focus. She took a deep breath. She didn't have time for that; she needed a clear head.

They had guessed her sizes terribly, she realized. The pants were baggy and the shirt too tight. She had to roll the sleeves of the jacket up several times, as they went far down past her fingertips. She searched through her clothes for some of her hidden bobby pins. There were just enough for her to pin her hair up so it would stay put under the hat, which was the only thing that actually fit her.

Done changing, she tucked the gun into her waistband and knocked on the door. Ready or not, it was time for round two.


	45. Gold

Chapter Forty-Five

Gold

"Any luck on the tip?" Peter asked as he made his way back into the conference room.

"Three hours ago, Caffrey goes into Elite Voyages asking for the itinerary of a Thomas Loze," Rice explained. Security footage from the travel agency was displayed on the monitor, paused on an image of Nora. Her hair was frizzy and unkempt, shirt untucked from her skirt on one side. Her lipstick was smudged a little in the corners of her mouth. She didn't look like she was hurt, which was good, but she looked slightly frantic.

"Do we know him?" Peter asked, not familiar with the name.

"Pulled a file from Interpol," she explained while flipping open the file in her hand. "Turns out that Loze happens to be a favored alias of Edward Reilly." She handed him a photo.

That name, Peter was familiar with. "Edward Reilly," he sighed. "The hits keep coming. He's a go-to guy when VIP criminals want something valuable moved. Hand-delivers everything himself, which is all the guarantee anyone needs. He's dangerous." He dropped the photo down in frustration. "My guess, Wilkes is snooping around Reilly's itinerary because he's planning a surprise for him."

"Wilkes is planning a rip-off," Rice summarized. Another agent came up to her and handed her a sheet of paper.

"Yeah," Peter agreed, "and he's using Nora as the face of his whole show."

"Reilly's on a flight from Sydney," Rice read from her paper. "Touches down in an hour."

"And we'll be there to meet him," Peter decided, heading out to get things in place.

* * *

Nora drove to the airport in the car provided by Wilkes. She was careful not to deviate from his instructions in the slightest. The last thing she wanted was for Wilkes to take that out on Lindsay. She parked in the appropriate parking lot and headed inside to where she was to pick Loze up. Her stomach was clenched tightly, both from hunger and from nerves. The last thing she wanted to do was hold up some guy with an unloaded gun.

"Do you happen to know where I can catch a shuttle to the city?" a familiar voice asked. Relief washed over Nora like a wave as she spun around to see Peter acting like he was nonchalantly reading a newspaper.

"No need for the cloak and dagger, Peter," she told him as they headed for the door, and Nora was somewhat surprised to see Rice holding it open. "Wilkes isn't here."

"We're here to help you get out of this mess, Caffrey," Rice explained.

"That's kind of ironic coming from you, Agent Rice," she said dryly as they walked.

"Listen," Peter sighed, interrupting her pettiness, though Nora thought it was well-earned. "This Loze guy you're going after, it's Edward Reilly."

"Damn," Nora hissed. She knew him by reputation only, but what a reputation it was. "No wonder Wilkes doesn't wanna be anywhere near this."

"You go through with this, Reilly will hunt you down," Peter warned, stopping in front of her.

She sighed. "If I don't get his briefcase to Wilkes by four, he'll kill Lindsay."

"You're sure about that?"

"Her guard wasn't wearing a mask," she explained gravely. "And he has a silencer."

"So you saw her?"

"Yeah."

"Where?" Rice asked.

Nora glared at her. "I don't know," she said flatly. "They tazed me." She turned back to Peter. "Please tell me you're close to finding her."

"We know she's in an old building near the water."

"Her guard was eating moo shu pork from a restaurant called Wok of Fire," she recalled.

"Chinese takeout near the water," Rice guessed.

"Alright, we can work with that," Peter decided. "Come on."

Nora didn't follow as he turned to leave. "Hey, I'm staying here." He rounded on her as if to argue. "If you don't get to Lindsay in time..."

He sighed, realizing she was right. "Yeah." He pulled something out of his pocket, as if he'd expected something like this might happen. "It's a two-way transceiver. Jones will keep an eye on you." She put it in her ear, spying Jones glancing their direction from an arcade cabinet a few feet away. "His team will stay out of sight."

He looked at her evenly. "Don't do anything stupid," he plead.

She offered a weak chuckle. "Too late."

"Really, Nora. Be careful." She nodded soberly, and he flashed a reassuring smile before turning to leave.

Rice lagged behind for a moment. "Good luck," she offered. Then Nora was alone again. Nora made her way toward the terminal, still having a little bit of time before Reilly's plane landed.

As she walked, she noticed a flight attendant drop a scarf and stopped to return it to her. Then another familiar voice caught her attention. "I don't care what you're doing here," Mozzie said. "As a friend, I insist you pull the rip cord."

"You got my message," she noted.

"What's with the driver's outfit?"

She sighed. "I'm about to rob Edward Reilly." It sounded worse out loud than it had in her head. One doesn't just _rob_ Reilly and expect to get away with it.

"_The_ Edward Reilly?" Mozzie asked, dumbfounded. He rolled his eyes. "What's your plan, gun in the glove compartment?" She cocked her head to the side, impressed. His eyes grew wide. "_That's_ your plan, a gun in the glove compartment."

She glanced over her shoulder, hoping no one was paying too much attention to his outburst. "It's a long story," she snapped, "but one way or another I'm taking his briefcase."

"Well, surely you won't do this because you're not _suicidal_."

She sighed. "Thanks for the pep talk." She clapped him on the shoulder and started for the terminal.

"But what if he gave it to you?" Mozzie called after her, and she froze. "And was happy to give it to you?"

That wasn't a half bad idea. She spun back around. "The zigzag scam?"

He pulled something out of his pocket. "One for me, one for you," he muttered, handing her a fake badge. Her own picture smiled up at her. _Always two steps ahead_. "Time to get into character." He swapped his glasses for a nearly identical pair.

"You're a chameleon," she teased.

"Yeah," he agreed proudly.

They got into place and waited. The plane touched down. Nora stood outside the terminal with a sign that read 'Thomas Loze,' surrounded with other people holding similar signs for other passengers. A man walked up to her, holding a briefcase like Wilkes had said.

"Mr. Loze?" He didn't say anything. "Name's Nat," she greeted cheerfully. "I'll be your driver today."

"Been on a plane for twenty-two hours," he huffed. "I don't give a damn what your name is, lady."

"Got any other bags?" she asked, motioning to the baggage claim.

"No."

"Let me take your case for you," she offered, reaching to grab it.

He pulled it away before she could so much as graze it with her fingers. "Just take me to the car," he huffed. She led the way.

They didn't get very far before Mozzie headed toward them. "Thomas Loze?" he called, stopping them. "Agent Haversham. Immigration and Customs Enforcement." He quickly flashed his fake badge. "Word is you're bringing something into the country we should know about."

"This a joke?" Reilly asked flatly.

"Do I look like I'm joking, Elvis?"

"Agent Halden," Nora added before Reilly got a chance to answer, holding up her own badge. "Joint Task Force. We're gonna need you to open the case." He glanced at both of them in turn, sleepy eyes taking a dangerous edge. "Doesn't have to be a scene if you don't want it to be."

"Okay," he sighed. "You guys really wanna do this? Knock yourselves out."

He held up the case, and Nora took it. "Let's go," she said. They led him to an empty room to examine the case. She wondered what could be inside that Wilkes felt the need to go through all the trouble for.

Reilly unlocked the case for them. "Palms on the table," Mozzie ordered, and the man complied as Nora started rummaging through the case. It didn't look like there was anything of value inside. "This looks like an overnight bag."

"When this is through, I want badge numbers," Reilly demanded. "You can't prove probable cause. It'll be both your asses."

"Shut your hole and kiss wood, Reilly," Mozzie snapped. The man raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, we know who you really are." Mozzie turned back to Nora. "I just said that to a guy who enjoys killing people with his bare hands." He sounded a little faint.

"Keep it together, Moz," she muttered. She didn't have time to worry about that, still rifling through the bag. If Wilkes thought there was something there, there had to be something there. She didn't want to think of the alternative. "Hold on a second..." She spied two snaps along the top of the lid. Pulling them down revealed a secret compartment, lined with gold cards. "Wow."

"Pure gold," Mozzie mused. "Think they're pre-loaded?"

"Well, that would explain Wilkes' interest in them," she allowed, snapping it closed again. "Load them up, couple hundred thousand each..."

Mozzie nodded. "And you've got a portable fortune. Perfect for the smuggler on the go."

Reilly hung his head, having been caught gold-handed. "I want my lawyer."

"Oh, you'll need him, Chachi," Mozzie said.

"I'd say you're staring down ten years, easy," Nora added. She turned to Mozzie. "Call the cavalry."

He pulled out his phone, but hesitated. "Imagine what you could do with just one of these babies, huh?" he muttered.

"Make for a great night out," Nora agreed. She glanced over to Mozzie, phone undialed in his hand, staring at the case. "Call it in, Haversham."

He shifted, licking his lips for a moment. "It's just… I promised Sarah that necklace." Out of the corner of her eye, Nora saw Reilly perk up, interest piqued. "With the diamonds."

"So?" she asked.

"So, she's gonna leave me, Nat."

She huffed. "And you think this is the way to keep her?" She glanced at Reilly before leaning in close. "This isn't the way," she stage-whispered.

"Oh, don't tell me how to keep a woman," he snapped. "A girl like you wouldn't even look twice at a guy like me. You don't get it."

She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Don't do this to yourself, okay?"

"Listen," Reilly said from the other end of the table. "This is my suitcase, right?" She looked at him skeptically as he slowly came around the table. "So maybe I left it on the plane." She and Mozzie shared a look. "What? I gotta spell it out for you two?"

Nora paused to consider it. "Alright, call it in," she said softly. "Tell him Loze was clean, we cut him loose. Come on, call it in."

Reilly smiled. "You guys are alright," he told them. He snagged one of the cards out of the case. "Gotta get home somehow, right?" He clapped Mozzie on the back, making him flinch, and walked away without another word.

Nora's shoulders slumped in relief. "That's the closest I've come to death this year," Mozzie mused once Reilly was out of earshot.

"Alright, thanks for your help, Moz."

"Could I-"

"No." She snapped the case closed before he could grab a card. Four o'clock was quickly approaching, and she had somewhere she needed to be.


	46. The End of a Long Day

Chapter Forty-Six

The End of a Long Day

Peter tried not to worry about Nora as he, Rice, and a team of other agents made their way to the waterfront. He had to trust that she could handle herself long enough for them to find Lindsay, and forced himself not to think about what would happen otherwise.

"This is the closest dock to Wok of Fire," Rice said while they walked.

A loud, low horn honked in the distance. "That sounds like our tugboat horn," he added. "So where's our girl?"

Rice shrugged in exasperation. Nearly all of the buildings seemed like they matched the information they had to go on. "I hope you're feeling lucky. It's almost four. Caffrey's out of time."

Peter pulled out his walkie talkie. "Nora, you copy?" She didn't answer. "Nora?"

"Tell me you found Lindsay," she said heavily.

"We're gonna need more time."

"It's four, Peter," she huffed. "I'm already here."

"Then stall," he suggested. "He gets his hands on the case, the girl's dead." He was sure she didn't need to remind her of that. With a sigh, he ran off with the other teams of agents to try and find Lindsay before it was too late.

Time seemed to move agonizingly slow as they combed the waterfront. Peter's heart was pounding. All of the buildings seemed to run together.

Then Peter saw it. "Wait, wait," he said, motioning for the other agents to stop. "Give me the still from that proof-of-life tape." An agent handed it over obediently.

"What do you see?" Rice asked, peering over his shoulder.

He held it up. "Same crack in the wall. That's our place."

"We got 'em," Rice agreed. They moved in.

* * *

It was a stupid plan, like so many Nora seemed to have lately. If it didn't work, she and Lindsay were both dead. _It's the only play I've got._ Wilkes didn't know about the secret compartment. She could use that to bluff him.

The van pulled to a stop in front of her car. She fiddled with the case quickly as Wilkes got out of the van. He reached through the van's open window and honked the horn impatiently. She held up a hand for him to wait a moment. _Now or never_. She climbed out.

"Right on time," Wilkes said. "I love that."

"Where's the girl," Nora demanded.

"Unfortunately, I won't be sharing that information with you."

She narrowed her eyes. "We had a deal, Wilkes."

He shrugged, unconcerned. "I lied. Give it to me." She tossed it over and he knelt down to open it. It was empty; she'd pulled out all of Reilly's overnight things. He stood slowly, shaking his head in disappointment. "And I thought we had a nice thing going on."

"You lied, I lied," she said, matching his unconcerned shrug. "It's like a dance." He pulled a gun out of his waist band, cocking it. "You pull that trigger and all those gold cards I just stole from Edward Reilly are gone forever." His eye twitched.

He was losing his cool. "If I don't have those cards in my hand in ten seconds," he threatened, "I'm gonna make a call and I'm gonna kill the girl. Then I'm gonna take my time with you." Nora didn't flinch. _Come on, Peter._

"Five seconds."

"Three Seconds."

He pulled out his cellphone. "Now my guys are gonna have to kill that nice man's daughter." He started dialing.

"Who says they're still your guys?" _Stall. Damn it, stall_.

He glared at her for a second. "Is that your play? You turned my crew against me? I expected more from you."

She shrugged. "Who do you think has the gold cards?"

"You left them with my guys," he said flatly. "You're not that dumb."

"You brought me into this because I bring up the average," she reminded him. "Unfortunately, that makes you less valuable. Your men agreed. It's time for new management."

"You're lying."

"Call them if you think I'm bluffing," she offered. _Please don't think I'm bluffing_.

"I think you're bluffing." He finished dialing the number. "Kill her," he said when the man on the other end picked up. "And leave the phone on speaker."

Nora's blood ran cold. _Peter, please. Please get there in time_. The seconds seemed to stretch out forever. Rather than the gunshot she expected to hear, she was able to faintly make out the sound of a dull crash and shouting.

"Damn it," Wilkes hissed, hanging up the phone abruptly.

"Sounds like they got company," she noted, fighting to keep her voice even.

In a fit of rage, Wilkes grabbed the case and flung it at a nearby wall. As it collided, the secret compartment popped open and the cards spilled out. Wilkes smiled tightly, raising the gun once more. "I guess that makes you obsolete."

She held up her hands in front of her. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." She pointed at the front of his shirt. Two red points of light wiggled around his chest. "See, I got friends with sniper rifles too."

"FBI!" she heard Jones call from somewhere behind her. "Drop your weapon!" Agents started swarming around them. "Drop your weapon right now!" He complied. "Hands in the air!"

"Alright, he's clear," another agent said before coming up to cuff him. His eyes didn't leave Nora. _If looks could kill_.

"Agent Burke," Jones said into his walkie. "We got Wilkes."

"We're secure here," she heard Peter respond. "We got the girl. What about Nora?"

She raised a hand in a lazy wave, feeling too tired and weary to manage much else. "She says hey."

Jones stowed his walkie back in his pocket and turned to set the other agents to various tasks, like collecting the gold cards and searching the van before he turned back to Nora. "You okay? You look like hell."

"I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I ache everywhere," she groaned, slumping down against the car. "Other than that, just peachy." She started pulling the bobby pins out of her hair, letting the ratty mess fall free. She scowled in the car's side mirror as she took a look. Jones chuckled, patting her shoulder a little.

"I was gonna head to the water front," he said. "I can give you a lift, swing through and grab a burger on the way."

"Think you can spot me some cash? I seem to have misplaced my purse."

"Sure thing," he chuckled, leading her back to his car. She wolfed down the food as they made their way to the water front.

Jones dropped her off and she followed the trail of FBI cars to Peter. He spun around as she came up behind him. "Where you been?" he called lightly, grinning. "Missed all the action."

"Oh, yeah," she dismissed, "got hung up with an old friend."

"How'd that go?"

She considered it for a moment. "I think I may have burned a bridge," she admitted.

"You okay? You're kind of a mess right now."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, why don't you get tazed and kidnapped, see how _you_ look?" Peter met her eyes, seeming to be genuinely concerned. Uncomfortable, she glanced over to where Rice stood with Mr. Gless and Lindsay, having their happy reunion. "Looks like Agent Rice is ready for her close-up. Heard the camera crews are already on their way."

"Let her have it," Peter sighed.

Rice met their eyes and motioned them over. "Aw, jeez," Nora huffed, "did she just give us the finger point?"

"She did." They walked over.

Mr. Gless turned to shake their hands in turn. "Agent Rice says you two are responsible for bringing my daughter back."

"We're all a team here," Peter deflected.

Nora took a breath. "Mr. Gless-"

"I'd say we're more than even now, Miss Caffrey."

She nodded politely, unable to think of anything to say in return. Lindsay smiled up at her. "Thanks for… playing round two."

"Don't mention it," Nora said softly. With that, Mr. Gless and Lindsay headed off.

Rice took their place. "That was a hell of a thing you did today."

"I could say the same thing about you," Nora said with a weak smile. She was too tired to be petty.

"No hard feelings?"

"Don't stretch it," she sighed. Rice seemed to accept that, patting her on the shoulder and turning to leave.

Peter motioned for Nora to give him a minute and followed after her. She didn't stick around to hear what he was saying. It was a risky move, but she was still conveniently anklet-free. She hoped their win would put her in Peter's good graces just enough that he would overlook her 'forgetting' to get it before she left. As long as she went back for it later, anyway.

It was after six by the time she got home. "You're late," Alex told her pointedly from the table as Nora closed the door behind her.

"Long day," she sighed.

"You look like hell." Nora rolled her eyes. "And what's with the outfit?"

"Long story." Nora stopped and lifted up the pant leg, revealing her anklet-free leg underneath.

"Congratulations," Alex allowed. "How'd you do it?"

"You'd be surprised what I can get done in a day," she dodged. "I kept my promise. It's your turn."

She stood and slowly came around the table. "I give you this and we get the music box together."

Nora smirked. "No, I told you. It's yours when I'm through with it."

Alex crinkled her nose. "See, I don't like the sound of that. We split it fifty-fifty."

Nora raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms in front of her. "What are you gonna do with half a music box?"

Alex ignored her. "And if you screw me on this," she warned, voice low, matching Nora's stance, "you know I can make your life miserable."

Nora bit out a laugh. "When did you become so distrusting?"

She shrugged. "Maybe you forgot, but I still remember Copenhagen."

"I'm sorry about that," Nora sighed. "But Copenhagen is the past." Alex was silent for a moment before plucking a pink paper lily off the table. "Nice flower."

"I learned from the best."

Nora unfolded it. Her heart skipped as she read what was inside. She scoffed, unable to believe it for a moment. "You go halfway around the world chasing something and the whole time, it's in your back yard." The box was in New York. Right under their noses. _And well within my reach_.

Alex smiled, grabbing her purse. "See you soon, Caffrey." She showed herself out.

Nora took a moment, reflecting on what she'd learned. It was getting late, and she needed to get back to the FBI before Peter decided she was running and called in the cavalry. She took a quick shower and changed her clothes before heading out.

* * *

Peter decided to stay late and wait for her to return. She wasn't running, that much he was sure about. She would be back for the anklet, likely with some bullshit excuse about forgetting it. He knew perfectly well was it was about.

Sure enough, around eight o'clock, while he sat working on paperwork, she came strolling in. She looked refreshed, her hair washed and brushed, her clothes clean and well-fitting. She'd forgone makeup and looked rather pale and tired.

He held up the anklet without looking up from his paperwork when she stepped through the door. "Forget something?"

She smiled sleepily. "Made it all the way home before I realized it was gone," she lied, grabbing it.

"Just slipped your mind?" he asked pointedly.

"I came back," she protested.

"What did Alex have to say?" She stared at him blankly, trying to figure out how he knew, too tired to try and hide it. "You had a brown hair on your shoulder yesterday morning, too short and too light to be yours. Unless you're meeting any other brunettes before work that I don't know about." She rolled her eyes. "It was about the music box, wasn't it? You and Alex are planning to steal it."

"She's just an old friend," she insisted.

"She's a fence, Nora. She either knows how to find things or sell them." He stood, turning to put a file away before rounding back on her. "People like that don't trust the FBI. _That's _why you walked away without your anklet."

"That's a fascinating theory," she said dryly.

He chuckled without humor. Even bone tired and knowing she wasn't fooling anyone, she still doubled down on her lies. "I'm willing to look past your little trip off the reservation because you did well today," he allowed.

She beamed. "Thank you."

"Don't," he huffed, and her smile dropped. "Just remember how it felt when you saw that girl in her father's arms. Moments like that are rare. But if you try to steal the music box, I will catch you."

She held his eyes evenly. "Is that a threat?"

He shrugged. "Just the way it is." He pushed past her. He should have been home hours before, but had waited for her to get back. He paused in the doorway, spinning back toward her. "You know, you can either go back to wearing an orange jumpsuit and pining for the guy that got away, or you can stay here and do something good with your life. Your choice." He left her in his office, hopefully with something to think about before she made a stupid decision.


	47. The Target

Chapter Forty-Seven

The Target

Weeks passed after the Wilkes arrest, stretching into months. Peter watched Nora with suspicion. As far as he was aware, she had no immediate plans to make her play for the music box, but he refused to let his guard down. He didn't believe for a second that she was going to take his warnings to heart.

The holidays came and went, bleeding into the new year. In just a couple short months, it would be the one year anniversary of their deal. They continued doing their thing, and for a while everything seemed calm.

An embezzlement scam landed on their desks, and Peter called the team into the conference room to discuss it as it was proving to be a tough nut to crack. Nora went off to talk to the little guy, to see if he had any ideas. "Ah, see you went for coffee," she noted as she returned. "Nice."

Lauren pulled the coffee away before Nora was able grab one. "You took forever getting back, so you miss out."

"Who's is that?" she asked, indignant, pointing at the last remaining cup in the holder.

"Hughes," Jones explained.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, you'll be glad I took my time because I solved our embezzlement scam." She tossed the file down on the table. "It's a lapping scheme."

"A lapping scheme?" Lauren repeated.

Impressed, Peter picked up the file to glance over it. "It's a way to siphon money," he explained.

"I'll show you," she offered, taking Hughes' coffee. "Let's say I want a sip of Hughes' latte." Lauren attempted to protest. "Just a sip." She pulled the lid off a took a swig. "Wow, that's delicious. But now I have a problem."

"Hughes is gonna toss your butt back in prison for drinking his coffee," Jones told her.

"Right," she allowed. "So..." She pulled the lid off Jones' coffee, who looked up at her in exasperation. "I take a little bit of yours, pour a little bit in here."

She glanced over at Jones. "But now _you're_ gonna kick my butt." She grabbed Lauren's cup, much to the agent's annoyance, but Nora ignored her. "It's a lapping scheme," she reminded her. "I keep it going as long as I can. In the end, I got a full cup of coffee and no one's the wiser."

She reached across the table for Peter's cup, but he snatched it away. "Until I catch you," he amended, taking a sip. She made a face, annoyed by her fun being ruined. "That's good work though. Very good work." She beamed at the praise.

Her phone beeped and she pulled it out, brow furrowed. "June's throwing a champagne brunch. I totally forgot. Do you mind if I cut out early?"

_Bullshit_. "What kind of monster would I be to keep Nora Caffrey from a champagne brunch?"

She grinned. "See you, guys." Peter watched her go, wondering what she was really up to. Was it related to Alex, to the music box? He couldn't be sure, but his gut got a bad feeling about it.

* * *

The address Alex texted her brought her to a fancy gym with an indoor swimming pool, of all places. It was dimly lit, but warm. She walked in, spying Alex swimming lazily while she waited.

"Got your message," Nora said, walking up to the edge of the pool. "Was wondering when you were gonna call."

"Hop in, we'll chat."

Nora raised an eyebrow. "Silly me, I forgot my suit."

"That's never stopped you before," Alex reminded her. Which, sure, was true, but hardly the point. "Relax, I know you're wearing the anklet. What I _don't_ know is if you're wired. Get in."

Nora sighed. "This is payback for the Seattle thing, isn't it?" Alex just smirked. Shameless, Nora stripped, revealing no wires. "Satisfied?"

Alex motioned for her to spin around, and she complied. "Okay, I've had my fun," Alex relented. "There's a spare suit in my bag." She gestured to a bag sitting a few feet away next to a couple of towels.

Rolling her eyes, Nora moved to find the suit. She glared down at Alex. "Oh, my _favorite _color. Puke green."

Alex giggled. "Okay, _now_ I've had my fun."

"Why do they even make bathing suits this color?" she muttered as she pulled the ugly thing on. Thankfully, it was a perfect fit and Nora dove in. She swam over to where Alex floated leisurely. "Where's the music box, Alex?"

"No small talk?"

"Come on. The note said it's in Manhattan."

"I wanna make sure you're not gonna go and get it without me."

"I told you," Nora sighed, "we get it together."

Alex paused for a second, bobbing lightly in place. "It's in the Italian consulate." Nora bit out a small laugh. _Because why would anything be easy_? "I traced it to the consul general. He tucked the box into his private safe in the consulate last year. He's flying in next month to pick it up."

"A consulate's a hard target," Nora allowed, understating it quite a bit.

"They're having a party next week," she explained. "It's our chance to get inside."

"I'm always up for a party," Nora mused. "What happens when he notices it's gone?"

Alex smirked. "The Nazis stole the box from the Russians."

Nora nodded. "He wasn't supposed to have it in the first place," Nora realized, "so he won't talk when we steal it from him. Should be fun."

She started swimming back toward the edge. "Oh, and Nora?"

Nora stopped, wheeling around to face her. "We are nowhere _near_ even for Seattle."

Nora laughed. "You really gotta learn to let things go."

* * *

Nora caught Mozzie up to speed later that evening. "A consulate," he repeated, exasperated. "Oh, great, an _international_ incident." Nora just stared, waiting for him to get through his rant. "Look, I don't wanna end my days in some underground prison, adopting cockroaches as pets."

"We're not talking about North Korea," she huffed. "It's the Italians, Moz."

"They do prison just fine," he insisted. "Ask Galileo." He switched gears. "Can we do it without Alex?"

"No," Nora admitted. "She won't tell me which safe it's in."

He sighed. "She was always a smart girl." Nora had to agree. "All of this is moot anyhow," he continued. "The suit isn't gonna let you out of your anklet any time soon."

She'd considered that. "Not Peter," she amended.

His brow furrowed. "Then who?"

"Fowler. If he wants me to get him the music box, he has to cut my anklet. He's manipulated it before," she reminded him.

Mozzie didn't look so convinced. "Okay, let's say he goes for it." He stood, standing to meet her eyes evenly. "Let's say you get him the box. Then what?"

She didn't understand what he was going on about. "What do you mean?"

"You give Fowler the music box and Kyle comes sweeping you off your feet. You settle down, buy a fixer-upper, and then join the PTA?"

She smiled faintly. That sounded lovely. "Yeah." Maybe not that _exact_ scenario, but something close to it, perhaps.

"Nora..." He shook his head, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Happily ever after isn't for people like us."

"It is this time," she insisted, brushing his hand away. "It is." He sighed, letting it go. It was a losing battle; she wouldn't be deterred.

She took a seat on the couch and started dialing her cell phone. Mozzie watched from the side, quiet and resigned. "Agent Fowler," she said to the receptionist who answered, "extension two-two-one."

"One moment," the woman told her.

It beeped for a moment before someone else picked up the line. "Agent Fowler's office," a no-nonsense sounding man greeted.

"Tell him I've got information on the music box he requested," she said vaguely.

"Who is this?" the man demanded.

"He knows. He can meet me at midnight tomorrow."

"Where?"

"He'll know that too." She hung up, casting a glance over at Mozzie. "Too cryptic?"

Mozzie shrugged. "Where are you gonna meet him?"

She hadn't quite decided that. "I'll find a place."

* * *

Nora's 'forgotten' champagne brunch made Peter suspicious, and he spent the evening watching her tracking data. It wasn't looking good. The next morning, he printed off a map and started marking it with the points she'd visited, looking for a pattern. He decided he wanted to see what was so interesting about the place she'd gone, and he packed for a long night.

"Hey," El greeted as she came into the dining room. She glanced down at his maps. "You got a stakeout?"

"Yeah," admitted, motioning to his packed lunch. "Deviled ham."

"You're either gonna torture Nora with it, or you're going alone."

He sighed. "We'll see."

Her brow furrowed. "What's going on?"

"Look," he invited, pushing one of his printouts over to her.

She studied it for a second. "Nora's tracking data. What's she up to now?"

"Nothing yet," he allowed. "She spent forty-five minutes on the corner of Kenmare and Lafayette last night."

"Honey, she can walk freely for a two-mile radius, right?"

"Yeah," he agreed, "but it's the way she was walking. Look." He pointed at the marked spots on his map. "She stands at every corner around this parking garage for exactly two minutes. She walks each street leading away from this point and then back again."

"What do you think she was doing?"

"I think she was casing the area. How many people are around, where there are cameras. Looking for an escape route in case she needs one."

"What is she planning?"

Peter drew in a breath. "I think she's gonna steal the music box."

She looked back down at the map, not convinced. "On a street corner?"

"Working theory," he allowed.

She was silent for a moment. "Well, have fun on your stakeout," she said. "I love you." She gave him a quick kiss.

"I love you."

* * *

Nora dressed in nondescript black clothes, waiting in the parking garage she'd chosen for her meeting with Fowler. The air was frigid, and she could see her breath curl away from her into the air. She pulled her coat tighter around her.

She turned at the sound of footsteps. "Fowler," she greeted coolly. His lackey came up behind him. "Oh, brought a friend." The lackey gestured for her to spread her arms and began patting her down. "I'm not wired."

"You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it."

"She's clean," the lackey said. With another look at Fowler, he stepped a few feet away, watching silently from the side.

"This better be good," Fowler warned.

Nora stepped close to him, dropping her voice down low. "I'm close to the music box."

He pursed his lips, nodding slowly. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

She cocked her head to the side, her hair spilling over her shoulder. "Well, you flew in from DC, so I think it does. My window to get the box closes in the next week. I need my tracking anklet off now to make it happen."

He glanced over his shoulder warily, leaning in close. "You're not suggesting something illegal, are you, Caffrey?"

She smirked. "Of course not. Especially not to an upstanding federal agent such as yourself."

His nostrils flared just a little. "You're pushing it."

She crossed her arms, dropping the smile. "I gonna push it some more," she hissed. "I give you the box, Kyle and I never hear from you again. That's my price."

Fowler looked her up and down for a moment, lips tugging up at the corners as he slowly stepped away. "You know, I don't give a damn what you do, Caffrey. Just don't make it my problem." He disappeared around the corner. All that was left to do was wait for him to follow through.

* * *

Peter's legs were beginning to crap, sitting cooped up in the car half the day. He parked in a dark corner of the parking garage where he had a clear view of the rest of the floor and waited. He was beginning to wonder if Nora was actually going to show up.

Finally, at a quarter to midnight, she did. He ducked down in his seat, hidden in shadow. She paced around idly while she waited for _something_. He could hear the clacking of her heels echo as she walked and her curls bounced with every light movement. She had dressed in all black, wrapped in a thick coat.

At almost midnight to the dot, two figures rounded the corner and she moved to meet them. Peter's heart skipped when he realized it was Fowler and his lackey. The lackey patted her down quickly before moving off to the side, away from the conversation.

Nora and Fowler were standing only a foot or two apart, and they spoke softly. Peter couldn't make out what they were talking about. Based on their body language, it was all business. They didn't talk long before Fowler smirked and started backing away the way he'd come. "I don't give a damn what you do, Caffrey," his voice carried. "Just don't make it my problem."

Nora lingered only a moment longer before turning the opposite direction. "Nora, what the hell are you doing?" Peter mused, watching her go.


	48. Fowler's Play

Chapter Forty-Eight

Fowler's Play

"This is the Italian consulate," Mozzie reminded Nora and Alex as the three of them sat brainstorming a plan. "It's not a bank or a museum. It's a little piece of a foreign country." Nora glanced back at him, waiting patiently for him to get it out of his system. "If we had a tank maybe. Or an air force."

"Well, we _don't _have an air force," Nora said lightly. "The party will get us past the first wall of security and into the main ballroom." She looked over the consulate blueprints as she explained before flipping to the next diagram set up on the easel. "There's only one way into the inner sanctum. It's though this security door."

"This door," she continued, looking seriously at Alex, "is our biggest obstacle."

"Uh, _yeah_," Mozzie chimed in. "There's no keypads, no biometrics, no lock. The only way in is to get buzzed through by a guard in the security room." Alex smirked a little as he babbled on.

"Let me worry about that," Nora insisted.

"Grand."

She ignored his lack of confidence and continued. "Once I'm through, there's a long stretch of hallway monitored by a closed circuit camera. When I make it down the hallway, I can get into the vault room." She turned back to Alex. "Which safe is it, exactly?"

"I'll let you know," she said vaguely.

Nora rolled her eyes. "When I find the safe, all I have to do is crack it."

"It's high-security and torch resistant," Alex explained.

"Uh, you'll need heavy metal to get the fire-resistant plate," Mozzie noted pointedly.

"Alright, details," Nora dismissed. "One thing at a time, Moz." He didn't look too thrilled, but held his tongue. "Let's start with party invites."

Alex moved over toward the table, digging through her purse. "I'm looking for a man without a plus-one," she said. She showed Nora a paper. "I'm leaning toward this gentleman, Ignatius Barton."

"Why him?"

"He's a duke," she said flatly.

Nora gave her a withering look. "Wouldn't someone a little less conspicuous do?"

"I always wanted to dance with a duke," she admitted with a shrug.

"Alright," Nora relented, turning back to Mozzie. "You submit your resume yet?"

"Oh, the catering company received it this morning. As the proprietor of the Greatest Cake bakery," he said, gesturing toward Nora, "I fully expect a glowing reference."

"Of course," she assured him.

"What's your in?" Alex asked Nora.

That had been the tough one to plan. It would, of course, been easier to just go with the same plan as Alex, but placing all their eggs in that one basket seemed like too big a risk. Plus, they were going to need a way to get the safe-cracking tools through security, so she decided it would be best to solve one problem with another. "I'm planning to make a very generous donation to the people of Italy," she explained.

There was a sudden, urgent knock on the door and June rushed in. "Nora, uh, company is on the way."

"Thank you." Mozzie rushed to cover the blueprints with a painting and Alex tucked her paper on the duke back into her purse. And not a moment too soon, as Peter stepped in behind June.

"Oh, look at this," he mused as June let herself out. "All the usual suspects in one place. Makes my job easier." He glanced at the painting over Mozzie's shoulder while Mozzie tried to act like he wasn't put off by Peter's sudden arrival. "What are you kids up to?"

"We were just leaving," Alex said lightly in Mozzie's direction, grabbing her bag and heading for the door.

"I bet you are," he muttered. Mozzie followed her out, shutting the door behind him.

Peter gave Nora a hard look for a moment before speaking. "I know you met with Fowler." Nora felt her stomach sink. She tried not to show it on her face. "Now Alex and your little buddy are here. You've got your whole crew to steal the box. Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're wrong," she tried lamely with a shrug.

Peter huffed in exasperation. "I don't understand you. I gave you a shot at a better life."

She looked at him evenly. "It's not the life I want."

He considered this for a moment. "Okay," he relented. "Well, we all have our weakness." She glanced down, away from his heavy gaze. "Kyle's yours." There was disappointment in his eyes when she dared to look back up at him. "Do the right thing, Nora."

He pushed past her toward the door. She stared out at the balcony, not wanting to see that disappointment again. Peter hesitated. "You're fooling yourself if you think Kyle's on your side."

When she turned to face him, there was more than just that disappointment in his eyes. There was something like sadness or concern now. Before she could process it, he yanked the door open and stormed out, leaving Nora alone with her thoughts.

_He's wrong_, she told herself. _Kyle wants to come home. Peter doesn't know him, not like I do. He's wrong_.

_I have to know for sure_.

* * *

Nora got started on her 'generous contribution.' The window was covered with reference pictures, displaying all the angles. Time was running short and it needed to be absolutely perfect. It had been a while since she got to flex her sculpting muscles, but once she got started, it was like she'd been doing it forever. Watching a lump of clay slowly take a recognizable form was relaxing and satisfying.

She pulled her hair into a messy bun and wore light pajamas, just shorts and a tank top while she worked. Despite the time crunch, there truly was no rushing perfection. She'd been working on it for almost two straight days, staying up through the night and practically subsisting on coffee. The effort was paying off and the sculpture was nearly done. Just some slight details needed fleshed out, some bumps smoothed out.

While she worked on tidying up the minute details, the door opened and her heart skipped a beat until she realized it was just Alex. The woman grinned broadly as she slinked in, all dolled up and clearly in a very good mood. "Your date went well?" Nora guessed.

She closed the door softly behind her. "You'd be _amazed_ the kinds of places a duke gets you access to," she mused.

Nora raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were just using him for a plus-one?"

Alex shrugged, hanging her jacket up on the coat rack. "No harm in having a little fun while I'm at it." Nora shook her head. "As I recall, you used to have a _lot _of fun while you were at it, back in the day."

"Well, this is just a _little _more important," Nora countered.

"Or your a hypocrite," she teased. Nora ignored her, focusing on her work. Alex looked over the statue. "Wow. Your gift to the Italians?"

"It's Fancelli's study," Nora explained, "Statua di Vulcano."

Alex moved to take a look at the reference pictures hanging on the window, then back at the forgery. "This is beautiful," she allowed. "Looks like the real thing."

Nor smirked. "Don't let it fool ya."

"I won't." She fixed Nora with a hard look. "There's something we've been avoiding," she sighed. "I think it's time to talk about it."

Nora had been expecting this. She had honestly been surprised Alex hadn't really brought it up sooner, outside a couple snippy comments. "Alright," Nora huffed. "Look, I know I hung you out to dry in Copenhagen, but-"

"I mean this," Alex said dryly, kicking her anklet with the toe of her stiletto. Nora glanced down at it, suddenly feeling very stupid for misreading the situation. "If you can't get it off, none of this will matter. And everything we're doing-"

"I'll happen," Nora snapped. "Alright? Just chill, okay? How about glass of wine?"

"Okay," she agreed.

Nora took a break from the sculpture and poured them each a glass. They took a seat on the couch and sipped it, chatting and reminiscing about the 'good 'ol days.' If Peter could have heard half of the things they were saying, he would have had a field day.

"Since you already brought it up," Alex said half way through their second glass, "remember the last time we were this close to getting the box?"

"Copenhagen," Nora sighed, cursing herself silently for bringing it up at all. Then she smiled wistfully. "Sneaking into the Amalienborg Palace, hanging out with the royal family." They shared a laugh.

"I have a scar from the jump off the gatehouse," Alex told her, showing her a spot on her arm.

Nora looked away, feeling the guilt press around her. "It healed nicely."

Alex was staring at her. "You didn't visit me in the hospital," she said flatly.

"You didn't visit me in prison," Nora shot back.

"You burned that bridge in Copenhagen."

"You cut me out-"

"We cut each other out." She was right, of course. Nora lived life in the moment, always moving forward. The list of regrets she held was incredibly short. Copenhagen was at the top. "That's..."

"…Who we are," Nora agreed. They were silent for a moment. "It's not a game this time."

Alex rolled her eyes. "Come on," she said softly, "I know you're gonna take the box." Nora opened her mouth to protest, but Alex continued over her. "I know this is about Kyle."

Before she could think of retort, a soft beep caught her attention. She glanced at her anklet, and her heart flip-flopped. "Alex, look," she muttered.

"Don't lie to me, Nora," Alex huffed. "It's humiliating for both of us."

"No, no look." She pulled her foot up onto the couch, craning her neck to get a better look. "This light's never been off before."

Alex stared blankly. "Fowler came through?"

Nora grinned. "I think we're in play."

* * *

Peter's brow furrowed in confusion as he listened to Jones. The other agent had insisted they leave the office for lunch, and once outside, began telling Peter of his suspicions. "You think your phone's being tapped?" Peter repeated.

"Been on the other side long enough to recognize those clicks," he insisted.

Peter sighed. It had to be Fowler. Who else? "That's not good. Lauren?"

"Same. Now Fowler's back. Think there's a connection?" They climbed into Peter's car.

Before he could answer, his phone started ringing, the call coming through the car's Bluetooth. "Hey, El," he greeted as he accepted the call. "What's up?"

"H-honey, I need you." There was distress in her voice. Peter froze as he buckled in.

"What's the matter?"

"They're tearing apart my office."

He shot a look at Jones. "Who?"

"The FBI… Please, please don't touch that," she huffed, no longer addressing Peter.

"El, did..." The line had gone dead. "Did she say FBI?"

"Yeah." Peter pulled out, all thoughts of lunch forgotten.

He pressed the button for the GPS. "Please say a command," the GPS said.

"Traffic." It pulled up a list on the little screen and Peter skimmed it quickly. "Looks like there's an accident at Park and 34th." He took a route avoiding the wreck, speeding as much as the packed city streets would allow.

FBI cars were stopped in front of Elizabeth's office. He and Jones rushed in. Agents milled about inside, and Elizabeth paced anxiously. "Honey," she sighed as he came to her side.

"Hey," he huffed to an agent next to El. "What's going… who's in charge here?"

"Stay away from my suspect, Burke," a familiar voice drawled from across the room, a voice that made Peter's blood boil. _Of course_.

"Your suspect," Peter spat, locking eyes with Fowler. Peter stalked over toward the man who leered at him. "You are way out of bounds here, Fowler."

"Fowler?" Elizabeth said, coming up behind Peter. "Wait, you're the man who violated our home?" She buzzed up toward Fowler like an angry little bee. Peter put a gentle hand on her shoulder, trying to calm. The last thing they needed was to give Fowler anything he could use against them.

"Alright, honey. Let me talk to him, alright?"

"You almost ruined my husband's career," she spat, ignoring him.

"You better calm your wife down here, Burke," Fowler said dryly.

"I will not calm down!" El said, right up in Fowler's face. She tapped a hand on his chest, something so innocent, but exactly what Fowler needed.

He smirked like a cat who caught a mouse by the tail. "That is assaulting an agent-"

"Are you kidding me-?"

"You're under arrest."

"This is absolutely ridiculous!"

"You've got to be kidding me," Peter huffed. Anger broiled in his chest. It was stupid. It was rash. It was playing into Fowler's hand.

Peter decked him.

Fowler's lackey pulled Peter away, and Jones rushed forward, getting between Peter and the lackey. Fowler was doubled over. He stood slowly, spitting blood out of his mouth. His lips were stained red.

Fowler smirked. "You just got yourself a suspension, Agent Burke." Peter glared at him, panting as the adrenaline began to drain away, cursing himself for walking himself right into Fowler's bait. "Jones, right? Take his gun and badge."

"You got your own guys for that," he said defiantly, "_sir_."

"Take his gun and badge," Fowler ordered.

There was no sense in Jones getting in trouble over all of this. "It's alright, Jones," Peter insisted, pulling them out and handing them over. He met Fowler's eyes evenly. "It was worth it."

Fowler just grinned, half of his teeth painted red with his own blood.


	49. Calling in a Favor

Chapter Forty-Nine

Calling in a Favor

There was no consoling El on the way home. She was deadly silent in the car, refusing to speak as she glared out the window, despite Peter's attempt to reassure her. She barely waited for the car to stop before she got out and headed for the door.

"Honey, come on," Peter sighed, rushing to catch up to her as she stormed through the front door. "El." She tossed her jacked to the couch, ignoring him. "_El. _Can we just… let's talk about this."

"Is there really anything to talk about?" she snapped, voice trembling. "I mean, I'm out of bail and your out of a job." She slammed her things down on the table as Peter hung his jacket up.

"No," he corrected, "it's just a two-week suspension." As if that made it better.

"Babe, I was _arrested_."

"I know."

"And _handcuffed_ in front of my clients." He scrubbed the back of his neck roughly with a hand, letting her get it out of her system. "I'll be lucky if I have a business in two weeks." She bustled into the kitchen, continuing her rant from there. "And now I have to call and explain why $2,000 worth of caviar is property of the U.S. government." She reappeared from the doorway and stopped in front of him.

She looked on the verge of collapse. "Alright," he said softly, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her in for a hug. "Alright. Come on. Come here. Come here." She didn't hug him back. "Come on." Slowly, her arms wrapped around him. "Come on. I love you, El." He pulled away to look at her face, brushing a few strands of hair away and cupping it softly. "I am so sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just… Just get him." She pulled out of his grasp and started shrugging out of her jacket.

While he stood there, trying to figure out something that could possibly make her feel better, his phone rang. Anger bubbled in his stomach as he checked who it was before answering. "What is it?" he snapped.

"I just heard," Nora said softly. There was concern in her voice, but Peter was in no mood for her maybe-genuine maybe-fake friendship.

"Don't."

"I didn't know this would happen, Peter," she insisted. "I didn't know he'd go after you."

As if that made it okay? "I don't want your apology. For the record, you just bought yourself two weeks house arrest."

"Jones told me," she sighed.

"You try leaving the apartment, you're done for." That part, at least, made Peter feel a little better about things. If he was down for two weeks, so was she. "Good luck planning your little caper." There was a knock on the door. Another agent coming to check on him, he guessed. "Hold on. I'm not done with you."

He lowered the phone and pulled the door open. "About that house arrest thing," Nora said, stepping through the door as Peter watched, dumbfounded. Glaring at her, he ended the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket.

He pushed her toward the back door without letting her get another word out. She sat obediently at the patio table, and they watched through the window as Elizabeth tried to get some work done. "I never thought he'd come after Elizabeth," she said softly. "You have to believe me."

"I don't care what you thought," he snapped, still fuming. "You're helping him destroy everything I've worked for, everything my wife has worked for."

Her face was downcast. "He took you out so you couldn't stop me."

"I know," he huffed, "and I walked right into it."

"Like you said, we all have our weaknesses. He's got mine. He found yours." She looked pointedly at El who was now pacing back and forth behind the table, phone pressed to her ear. "When this is over, we take him down for good."

He stared at her for a moment, not seeing even a hit of a lie in her eyes. She wanted to take Fowler down as much as he did. He didn't answer, wondering what things would look like when 'this' was all over.

After a moment, realizing Peter wasn't going to say anything, she pulled her foot up onto the chair. That position tugged her pant leg up enough to show off her anklet, which was apparently exactly what she wanted to show him, as she spun it around her slender ankle to reveal the other side. "Look at this."

He looked at it blankly for a moment, realizing how she was able to dodge the house arrest without any alarms going off. "Nora, your light is off," he said dryly.

"Yeah, but according to Jones, the monitoring stations says I'm at home." She returned the anklet to its proper position and lowered her leg.

"Why isn't it transmitting?" She raised an eyebrow, as if the answer was obvious. _The answer _is_ obvious_. "Fowler." He scowled at nothing in particular. "He shut you down so you could steal the box. How'd he do that?"

"I don't know," she admitted, fiddling with the ends of her hair idly.

"I'm almost impressed," he allowed.

She stared at him warily. "You're not gonna arrest me?"

"I can't," he snapped. "I don't have a badge." He stood, heaving a deep sigh as he paced around the table, stopping to look though the window at El once more. "Alright, let's say you pull off this heist. You really think he's gonna let you and Kyle go?"

Her bright blue eyes were wide, sad and almost desperate as she met his gaze. "I need to know if he's..." The words died in her throats. Peter sighed, knowing what she was trying to say without her needing to say it. "You'd do the same for Elizabeth."

He looked back in at his wife, sitting at the table once more. Her face was buried in one hand, the other still holding her phone to her ear. "After today, I'm not going to argue that," he allowed. He turned back to Nora. "I'm gonna beat him."

"What are you gonna do?" she asked, a small smile playing at the corners of her ruby red lips.

Peter considered it. "Fowler took my badge. I'm gonna take his," he decided. "He's aiding you in illegal activity."

She shrugged, smile growing into a sly smirk. "I'm just doing my part." Then she returned to her serious demeanor. "He'll be watching you and everyone you work with."

Considering he was tapping Jones and Lauren's phones, that much was obvious. "I know. I'll need help from somebody with FBI access who Fowler can't link to me. Somebody I can trust."

"You got someone in mind?"

He grinned, nodding slowly. He had the perfect person in mind. Someone who never met Fowler, but who he was sure would still be loyal to Peter if asked for a favor. _And this is a pretty big favor_.

He sent Nora home, hoping she actually stayed there, and made a call.

* * *

Peter waited at the spot they'd agreed on later the next afternoon. The drive, he knew, had been long, and he felt kind of bad imposing like that, but his somebody was all too willing to come to his aid.

The late January air was chilly, and Peter sipped on hot coffee, relishing in its warmth. He heard heels clack on the stone behind him and glanced up as she rounded the bench. She smiled down at him. Diana looked just the same as Peter remembered. Same bronze skin. Same shoulder-length black hair. Same wry smile. Same intelligent, knowing brown eyes.

She took a seat next to him, neither speaking for a moment. He glanced over at her. "Thanks for coming," he said softly.

She grinned broadly, the skin around her eyes crinkling with laughter. "You knew I would, boss."

He chuckled. "You don't have to call me that anymore." He glanced down at his coffee. "How's uh…?" He drew a blank, unable to remember her girlfriend's name.

"Christie?" she supplied.

"Yeah."

"Oh, she's good."

"Good. Good, good." Peter hated small-talk. "Good. You guys like DC?"

"Mm. Different city, same paperwork," she joked. "I should have stuck around. Things are probably more interesting with Caffrey."

"Too interesting."

Her smiled faded a little bit as she studied him. "Huh. She the reason I'm here?"

He nodded, heaving a deep sigh and glancing over his shoulder. "Diana, what I'm about to ask you to do is a lot more than paperwork. I need you to look into an OPR agent. Agent Garrett Fowler. Somehow, he's manipulating Nora's anklet."

"Why?"

Peter hesitated. "Nora has access to something he wants," he said carefully.

She scoffed. "Sounds like she hasn't changed."

"No," he laughed. "Same old Nora."

Diana smirked. "She still going full-glam into the office?"

"Oh, please," he snorted, "don't get me started."


	50. Out of the Frying Pan

Chapter Fifty

Out of the Frying Pan

True to her word to Peter, Nora stuck to the apartment as much as her plans would allow, leaving only for a short while to donate her forgery to the Italian consulate. Mozzie dropped by later in the day and Nora poured them each a drink. "How'd it go?" he asked.

"Good."

"The consulate accepted your gift?"

"I spoke to Mr. Tomassi, the consulate manager," she explained. "Fancelli's study of Vulcan is now in the inner sanctum."

"How's the security?"

She shrugged. "Like we expected. The outer door opens with a key card."

He stared at her for a moment, expecting her to continue. "And… what about the inner door?" he prompted. "Can we get through?"

She hesitated. "I'll figure out a way," she dismissed, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. She had a vague, tentative plan, but she didn't think he would approve, so she decided to wait until it was too late to tell him. It would work, she was confidant of that much, it was just a bit... risky. But, details.

He rolled his eyes, but didn't press it. "He invited you to the party?"

"He did."

"Alex?"

"She's the duke's plus-one. You?"

He grinned. "You're looking at the new assistant server... trainee." She giggled a little. Mozzie had certainly drawn the short straw on this heist. "If I play my cards right, I get dental in three months."

Nora drew in a breath. They were as prepared as they were ever going to be. The party was practically right on top of them, and all the pieces were in place. "Alright. Then we're ready." She looked down at her ankle, the inert anklet poking out from under her pant leg. "Let's cut it off. You wanna do the honors?"

She pulled out a chair and lifted her leg up. "I feel like I should make a toast or something," Mozzie mused as he picked up a pair of scissors. They grabbed their glasses off the table. "'We feel free when we escape, even if it be but from the frying pan into the fire.' Eric Hoffer."

Nora nodded appreciatively and tugged on the anklet's band, pulling it taut so he had room to make the cut. It was as if she was watching in slow motion, something she had fantasized about for months. The scissors closed around the thin plastic band with a _snip_ that seemed to resound within her skull, a thousand times louder than it had any right to be.

She held it up, studying it wistfully. Her ball and chain, removed. While it had been useless for days, its mere presence connected her irrefutably to the FBI. There was a certain weight in cutting that bond that Nora felt as she stared down at the hunk of clunky, chafing plastic. _I gave you a shot at a better life_.

_It's not the life I want._

"No sirens," Mozzie noted, pulling her out of her thoughts.

She grinned, holding up her glass. "Into the fire." They clinked their glasses and took a drink.

_It's not the life I want_.

* * *

"This is everything I could find on Garrett Fowler," Diana explained, slapping a file down in front of Peter. She worked fast, for which Peter was extremely grateful. "Not much there. I put in a request to go after his files. I'm just waiting on the judge."

"Don't need much," Peter muttered as he skimmed. "He's aiding a premeditated robbery. The anklet is the key." But she was right; there was nothing they could use in the file.

"You sure it's him?"

"Fowler's doctored Caffrey's information in the past, and he's doing it now," he assured her. "I need to know how."

She considered it for a moment. "Well, Marshals monitor the anklet."

"Department of Justice supersedes their authority. Fowler could override them and get access," he mused. "Or he's altering the data remotely."

"You can't do that from just any internet connection," she noted.

"You'd need a secure line," he realized. "He's doing it from OPR offices. They have one in New York. That's where I need to go."

"Nobody gets into that building without-"

"Federal clearance and an appointment," he finished over her. Of course, he already knew that. "They wouldn't let me within a hundred yards."

She cocked her head to the side, corners of her lips tugging up just slightly. "But they'd let me."

He sighed. Diana had already done so much to help him, and going after Fowler carried a very serious risk of getting into deep trouble if things took a turn for the worse. He hated pulling her in too far over her head. "Fowler finds out and it's career suicide," he warned her.

She leaned in over the table. "I came here to help you." There was resolve in her eyes. She wasn't going to let Peter go down without doing as much as she could possibly do.

"Thank you."

She smiled, grabbing her coat and purse from the chair next to her before standing. She hesitated on her way to the door. "This music box… What happens if he gets it?"

That was the question, wasn't it? "I don't know," Peter admitted. "But we need to make sure he doesn't." He might not have understood Fowler's motives, but they couldn't have been anything good if he was willing to go to such lengths to get his hands on the box.

She nodded soberly and turned to go, leaving Peter alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Mozzie left shortly after. They both had to get ready for the party. Now sans anklet, Nora was able to consider some of the more fun options in her wardrobe. She chose a form-fitting red dress, one that restricted her movement as little as possible, and a reasonable pair of matching pumps. She spent a lot of time on her makeup. Her collection had grown considerably since her release from prison, no longer limited to cheap, drugstore brands.

With some jewelry borrowed from June, Nora looked as wealthy and elegant as she'd convinced the Italian consulate manager she was when she'd met him earlier. She did a final once-over in the mirror. Her hair was clipped over her right shoulder, a silver pin holding it tightly in place in the back. She smirked with ruby red lips, showing off a row of perfect white teeth.

_This is it._

It was just like old times, getting all dolled up for a heist. If all went well, she'd have the two things she'd long been searching for before she knew it: the music box and Kyle.

As expected, she was welcomed right into the Italian consulate when she arrived. She followed a crowd of beautifully dressed people in, stopped briefly by security as they ran a wand over her to make sure she wasn't smuggling anything in that she wasn't supposed to, and made her way up a grand staircase.

She glanced around upon reaching the top of the stairs, her eyes moving toward the outer door of the inner sanctum, the one protected by a key card. The consulate manager was just stepping out. "Senor Tomassi," she called over to him pleasantly. _He put his key card in his right jacket pocket..._

"Ah, Miss Dunvarry," he greeted, crossing the space between them swiftly.

She smiled as he grabbed her hand and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckle. "Please, call me Grace," she insisted.

"Grace," he amended. "Thank you again for your remarkable donation."

She brushed him away with a bashful smile, toying with the ends of her hair. "Oh, well, I know how important Fancelli's work is to Italian sculpture. I couldn't just let it sit around in my family's attic collecting dust."

He chuckled. "No, of course not. The consul general has requested the piece be placed in perfect view of his office. Fancelli is his favorite artist."

"Really?" she asked, feigning surprise. "I had no idea." She hesitated, biting her lower lip for just a seconds. "Could I see it?"

His smile faded. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid that won't be possible." She nodded in understanding. "But rest assured, it's very safe." She smiled as if that was reassuring, and his grin returned. "Please enjoy your evening."

He patted her quickly on the shoulder before turning his attention to some of the other guests.

_Well, it was worth a shot_.

She headed into the party to wait until it was time to get to work.

* * *

_A/N: Starting on Wednesday, I'm going out of town, and won't have access to WiFi for a while. Under normal circumstances, I would just take a break, and continue posting when I get home next week. However, there are only three chapters left, and it would be stupid to wait a week for two chapters. So, I decided that tomorrow, July 30, I will post the last three chapters at once. So, just keep that in mind so you don't accidentally skip to the final chapter and think I missed a big chunk of the last episode of the season._

_To reiterate, chapters 51, 52, and 53 will all be posted tomorrow, which will conclude part two. Thanks for reading, as always._

_-Selkie_


	51. Into the Fire

Chapter Fifty-One

Into the Fire

People milled about, sipping on drinks from the bar or champagne from trays carried by caterers, chatting while soft piano music wafted around them. Nora moved through the room, keeping her eyes peeled for Alex and Mozzie as she headed for the bar.

"Ketel One on the rocks, please," she told the bartender.

"Of course, ma'am." She spotted Mozzie across the room, dressed like a waiter and carrying a tray. He caught her eye and nodded once. Just coming into the room was Alex, hanging off the arm of her duke. Alex waggled her eyebrows at Nora. Nora just shook her head lightly and turned back to the bartender, who was pouring her drink.

Nora took a sip and returned her attention to Alex, who was still discreetly watching Nora. Nora put a hand on her right hip, drumming her fingers lightly in place for a moment then watched as Alex excused herself from her duke and made her way toward Tomassi, who was mingling around some of the other guests.

Mozzie, who had been waiting and watching took his cue and headed straight for Tomassi. Alex was in place right behind the consul manager, waiting. Mozzie bumped shoulders with the man, sending a couple empty glasses toppling over on his tray. Taking advantage of the distraction, Alex lifted the key card out of Tomassi's pocket and pushed past them toward the bar.

She smirked at Nora, resting her hands on the bar and quickly, casually sliding the card under Nora's purse. "Nice lift," Nora allowed, grabbing the purse and palming the card. Making sure the bartender had her back turned, Nora discreetly stowed the card down the front of her dress.

"This'll get you through the first door," Alex said. "Love that dress."

"Back at'cha."

Alex got two glasses of champagne and headed back toward her duke. "Good luck, Caffrey."

"Alex," Nora said dryly. Alex spun around, eyes wide and innocent. Nora raised an eyebrow. "Which safe is it?"

Alex rolled her eyes. "Triple-walled," she sighed, "case-hardened steel, 1943 McKenzie."

"Couldn't make this easy for us, could they?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Alex teased with a grin.

Nora returned the smile, the thrill of the heist starting to sink in. "See you on the inside." Alex returned to her duke.

_Do or die time, Caffrey_. Nora drew in a deep breath, snagging a glass of champagne off a passing caterer's tray as she moved to the center of the room.

"Excuse me," she called, raising her glass high, drawing all eyes toward her. "Scuse. Perdon. I'd like to make a toast to our gracious hosts." A low murmur of assent ran through the crowd, everyone with a glass raising it to match hers. She could see Alex, barely containing a smirk. Tomassi stood mixed in the crowd as well, eyes narrowed in confusion. "And all of you because this is a very special night. Well, it's special to me, anyway.

"You probably have no idea who I am," she continued, spinning slowly in a circle to address everyone equally. "So, I'm going to tell you." People shared looks of intrigue and excitement. "I'm an internationally-renowned art thief." There was silence for a moment before a few of the guests started to laugh, thinking it some joke. Nora grinned. "And tonight, I'm here to rob you."

The crowd started murmuring again, not sure what to make of the spectacle. Nora could make out two large men in suits, not laughing or muttering like the rest, gently pushing through the crowd toward her. "Cheers," she called, taking a drink before they could reach her.

Once they broke through the circle of guests, one of the men pulled her glass away, passing it off to a confused caterer. Her purse soon followed, tucked under one of the men's beefy arms. The two men grabbed her by the biceps and led her from the room. She didn't protest. She could hear Tomassi addressing the crowd behind her. "It seems on of our guests has had too much to drink. Please continue to enjoy your evening."

Nora was led through a door with a key card lock and down a flight of stairs within. It was just a waiting game until Alex and Mozzie did their part. Though, waiting was Nora's least favorite part of any job, especially when she had no way of knowing what was happening elsewhere.

They were buzzed through a second door and Nora was roughly shoved into a supply closet she guessed they also used as a holding room. Tomassi and the two large men piled in behind her.

"Tell me why you're really here," Tomassi demanded, flanked by his two men.

"Oh, I told you," she said earnestly. "I'm here to rob you."

Tomassi nodded slowly. "I see." He motioned to the man to his right. Then man stepped forward and before Nora had time to react, he backhanded her squarely across the cheek. She yelped as spots danced behind her eyelids and pain burned across her skin. A hand flew to her cheek, and she staggered back, her waist bumping against the metal shelf behind her.

"Well, now I'm definitely not gonna tell you," she spat, blinking the tears from her eyes.

She was still reeling from the strike, Tomassi fuming at her lack of cooperation, when alarms started blaring. Tomassi glanced around, confused and angry. "Give me your walkie," he demanded of the man on the left. "Lock her in here. Come with me."

Nora watched them go, rubbing her cheek, hoping it wasn't going to leave a bruise. After the door was locked behind them, she pressed her ear to it, listening carefully to make sure they were gone before she let herself out.

She pulled the card from its spot down the front of her dress and slid it, opening the door just enough to slip out, and shutting it behind her. She stayed pressed in the doorway, where the camera couldn't see her. "Come on, Moz," she muttered, glancing around the edge as far as she dared.

"Nora," she heard Mozzie hiss just a moment later. "Where are you?"

"The other side of the glass," she called back. Mozzie, glancing over his shoulder nervously, pulled out a digital camera on a stick, raising it up and taking a picture with a trigger at the base of the pole. He held it up in front of the camera, making a impromptu fake feed.

"Go."

She darted across the hall and slid the key card at a heavy wooden door. It opened with a buzz, letting her into a lavishly decorated office. She made her way to the back of the room where, as expected, an impressive 1943 McKenzie waited. Nearby was her forgery, draped with a cream colored cloth. She pulled it off with a flourish.

She took a second to admire it with a deep sigh. "Some of my best work." But it was no time to get sentimental. She pulled Vulcan's hammer out of his hand and started smashing the statue like a pinata, revealing the hidden treasure inside. Specifically, tools for getting into a tricky safe.

She crouched in front of the safe, quickly assembling the drill and giving it a little test before putting drill bit to metal. "Nora, hurry up," she faintly heard Mozzie call from the hallway. "My arm's killing me from holding that drink tray."

She ignored him, focusing on keeping the drill steady as it bore its way through the thick metal wall of the safe. That part done, she traded the drill for a camera. Snaking away from the little digital screen was a black hose-like tube with a light and a camera at the end. She fed the end through the hole made by the drill.

She watched the screen while she slowly turned the safe's dial, worrying her lower lip, waiting for each small click. The seconds seemed to stretch out forever until she head that final click. She pulled the camera out and took a handle in each hand.

With a deep breath, she pulled the safe open.

The music box was more beautiful in real life than in all the pictures she'd seen. Her heart skipped a beat in her chest. It was there. It was _really _there. Real. Tangible. Hers.

She grinned, eyes tearing up as she took it gingerly into her hands. After so long, after so much stress and frustration and heartache, she finally had the box, glistening brilliantly in the light, cool to the touch. Real.

She didn't have time to sit and admire it. She stowed it in the bag her tools had been in, grabbed her hammer, and headed back into the hallway.

"Take your time, why don't you?" Mozzie hissed when she came into view. "You're losing your touch."

"Let me in," she heard from behind her. Alex was waiting at the other end of the hallway. Nora motioned for Mozzie to wait a moment, earning herself a dramatic eye-roll, and turned back to let Alex in.

"Everything okay?" Nora asked, opening the door and holding it for Alex. She slid the key card into a pocket on the bag.

Alex grinned ear to ear, looking at the bag Nora carried. "We did it," she squealed, wrapping Nora in a tight hug.

"Yeah," Nora laughed, "but we're not out of here yet."

Nora could hear shouting up the stairs. "That's very touching, guys!" Mozzie called, abandoning his position and lowering the camera. "But they're coming!" Nora dropped the bag gingerly and hurried back to the other end of the hallway.

Only then did she realize the card was still in the bag. She spun back around, preparing to rush back and grab it.

Alex was on the other side of the gate, the door shut behind her. The bag was with Alex. Nora felt her stomach drop into her shoes and she stalked back over, glaring daggers at Alex. _Stupid. I should have seen this coming_.

Alex just shrugged, dropping the card back through a gap in the gate. "Alex..." She walked away without a word. "Alex!"

"Hurry up!" Mozzie shouted. "They're coming!" There was no time to be hurt. Nora snatched up the card and raced back toward Mozzie. The voices were getting closer.

"Come on," she huffed, opening the door for him. Once it was closed, she stuck the shaft of the hammer between the two door handles. It wouldn't stop them for long, but it would buy them enough time to get out.

She caught Tomassi's eyes as she was pulling the door at the other end of the hall closed. He ordered his men to go around, but they both knew it was too little, too late. Nora and Mozzie bolted, making their escape into the night.

Betrayed and hurt, her one hope of seeing Kyle again gone, Nora slunk home in defeat.


	52. Goodbyes

Chapter Fifty-Two

Goodbyes

The city was already growing light outside. Peter was waiting for her at the table when she returned home after laying low with Mozzie for a while, and she found she wasn't surprised in the least. Shoulders slumped, she closed the door behind her and turned to wait for him to say whatever it was he was going to say. It didn't take long.

"There's a APB out for a woman of interest in a red dress," he informed her. "Apparently, she rappelled down the wall of a consulate."

She shrugged lazily. "It'll be fine," she huffed, pacing into the room. "They're not gonna prosecute for the theft of an item they weren't supposed to have in the first place." She plopped down in a chair next to Peter, kicking her shoes off and pulling a foot up to rub it.

"An item you don't seem to have."

"Yeah, well, let's just say Alex had other plans," she spat. Peter didn't look too surprised. "I should've seen it coming."

"Any idea where she went?"

Nora shook her head, moving on to pulling the pins out of her hair. "She didn't stick to the plan. She got out of the consulate a different way." She sighed deeply, letting her dark hair fall lankly in her face. "If Alex wants to disappear, she does. Without that box, Fowler's side wins."

Peter leaned in close, face serious as he studied hers. "I need to know. What about us? Are we on the same side here?" _Talk about a loaded question_.

She was silent for a moment. "You said I earned the right to make my own choices," she reminded him. "You changing your mind?" He didn't answer. "Fowler's still out there."

Peter smirked. "This isn't over yet." He grabbed his jacked and stood to leave.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I've got something in play," he said slyly. _Of course you do_. He pulled the door open. "Oh, and you should put some ice on that." He pointed toward her cheek. "Looks swollen."

"Lovely."

Nora couldn't relax. She started trying to find Alex, calling up as many people as she could think of to track the woman down. It seemed like she'd disappeared without a trace. She couldn't stay still, pacing restlessly back and forth.

She was barely aware of June stepping into the room until she spoke. "You're going to burn a hole right through my floor if you keep that up," she scolded. Nora shrugged. "Whatever's bothering you, believe me, it's gonna work out."

"How do you know that?" Nora asked desperately.

In answer, June just turned and watched Alex come up behind her, music box in hand. Nora huffed, relief flooding through her like a wave.

"Thank you," Nora told June with a warm hug. "For everything."

June hugged her back. "Oh, you know I don't believe in goodbye," June reminded her, voice heavy. She pulled away, cupping Nora's unbruised cheek softly. "Nora, you are one in a million. And don't you forget it." Nora grinned and blinked away the unbidden tears that threatened to spill.

With that, June left them.

She gave Alex a hard look. "I didn't know if I'd ever see you again," Nora said dryly.

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing." Nora let out a breathy laugh. "But here. Before I change my mind." She pressed the box into Nora's hands.

Nora stared down at it, hardly daring to believe it was real. "You don't know what this means to me."

"I think I do," Alex argued with a small, kind smile. "I hope Kyle's still the same guy you think he is." Alex circled past Nora.

"Getting that a lot lately." Nora turned slowly. "If you don't trust him, why'd you bring this back?"

Alex sighed. "Because I don't want this to be goodbye," she admitted. "I don't want to lose a friend. Those are kind of in short supply in our line of work, you know?" Nora smiled. "And, plus, I figured I don't need all the heat this is gonna bring. I don't need the same guy who's been after you coming after me."

"You always made smart decisions," Nora joked.

Alex scoffed. "You should try it some time." Alex clapped her on the shoulder and Nora watched her leave.

* * *

Nora's hands trembled as she made the call to set up the meet. It was all finally drawing to a close, after almost a year. She could barely convince herself it wasn't just some elaborate nightmare, and that she would wake up any time with no music box, no answers, no closer to getting Kyle back. But, if nothing else, the pain in her cheek was an excellent reminder that she wasn't dreaming.

She waited alone in an alleyway, well away from the bustle of the city. There were no sounds of people or cars, just her pounding heart and chattering teeth. Maybe it was reckless and dangerous to meet Fowler alone, but some things couldn't be helped.

A black car pulled up at the mouth of the alley and screeched to a stop. Fowler stepped out, alone for once. He leered at her, walking slowly as he approached and glancing down at the bag in her hand. "Is that it?"

"I want assurances." He shot a nervous glance over his shoulder before pulling a yellow envelope out of his jacket and handing it over. She leafed through it quickly. "Mentor was created for me?" she asked as what she read started to sink in.

Fowler nodded. "Kyle and I made a deal. You both get new identities. We get the box, you disappear. Legally."

All of the little pieces were falling into place. She pushed down the feeling that something still wasn't quite right. _It's just_ stress, she tried to convince herself, _just__ nerves_. She handed over the box. "There you go." He peeked inside the bag to make sure she wasn't pulling a fast one. "What's so special about that box?" she wondered.

He shrugged lightly. "It's above my pay grade. Kyle's waiting for you. Time and place are in that folder." He turned away, but glanced back over his shoulder, smiling like a shark. "Have a nice life, Caffrey."

"Yeah," she muttered. She stayed and watched as he got back into the car and pulled away.

Nora read the entire contents of the folder quickly before she made her way out of the alley, dialing Mozzie as she walked. Before she met up with him, she set up a little surprise for a friend. She picked up a burner phone, ready a call whenever it came.

With everything else in place, she met up with Mozzie and explained everything that had gone down with Fowler. "A Washington-approved disappearing act," he mused once she'd finished.

"Technically, I work for OPR."

"_Technically_," he repeated, making air quotes. "It's just on paper. With this new identity, you can go anywhere with Kyle."

She smiled wistfully. "And it's legal."

"That's genius," he allowed, voice tight. "No one will be able to find you. Governments. Old enemies… Old friends." He slowed to a stop, turning to face her. "Remember that old Chinese curse?"

"May you live in interesting times," she recalled.

"These certainly are interesting times." She nodded in agreement. "Remember the second half of that curse?"

"May you find what you're looking for." She sighed heavily, looking down at her shoes. She didn't want to leave Mozzie behind. Mozzie was her oldest friend. They'd been through a lot together. He was like the older brother she never had… or maybe an eccentric uncle. Leaving him wouldn't be easy. But it was what had to happen.

Mozzie's lip trembled as he searched for words. "Gonna say goodbye to the suit?" he asked, putting off what he really wanted to say, voice thick. She didn't answer, just smoothed down her hair absently. He nodded. Then pulled her in for a hug. She hugged him back, patting him comfortingly on the back. When he let go, he squeezed her shoulder gently. "Send me a postcard."

She couldn't speak through the lump in her throat, just smiled and nodded. And walked away. She brushed away the single tear that slid lightly down her cheek, the wet trail burning in the cold winter air.

She ambled around the city for a while, taking it in for what could have easily been the last time. New York certainly was one hell of a city. Leaving it was going to be like closing your favorite book, knowing you may never read it again.

While she walked, her phone finally rang. "Elizabeth," she greeted on the first ring.

"Nora?" she asked, confused. "What is this?"

"I got a friend at the Channing Museum," she said, ignoring Elizabeth's question. "He's gonna call you today. He owes me a favor."

"Really? Why?"

Nora grinned. "To hire Burke Premiere Events to do their annual Masters Retrospective," Nora explained, picturing the stunned look on El's face.

"That's… that's… That's impossible to get."

"You just got it."

El was silent for a moment. "Why are you doing this?"

Nora sighed under her breath. "Just trying to fix what I broke," she said vaguely. "There's something I wanted to ask you."

"Yeah?" El prompted when Nora hesitated.

"You and Peter… how'd you know?"

El was silent for a moment. Nora came to a stop on a street corner., idling out of other peoples' way next to a trash can. She couldn't help the uneasy feeling that had been bubbling in her stomach, the feeling that something was just _off _about everything, no matter how much she tried to convince herself it was nothing.

"Well..." El said finally, "I think there's a difference between loving the _idea _of someone… and actually loving who they really are."

That didn't do much to reassure Nora. "Now, listen, I gotta go," Nora said quickly. "Thanks for everything. You've been a good friend, and I think I really needed that this past year."

"Okay. Well, um, I'll talk to you later."

Nora closed her eyes, shaking her head to herself. "Goodbye, Elizabeth." With a sigh, she hung up the call and tossed the phone in trash.


	53. Burn

Chapter Fifty-Three

Burn

"Hey," Peter greeted as Diana called him back. He'd been waiting anxiously for her after she went into Fowler's office, hoping for the best but fearing the worst.

"I'm headed to the garage," she told him. "I've got everything on Mentor. You're not gonna believe it."

"Is Nora involved?"

"Heavily. There's another file, but it's encrypted."

"See you in a moment." He hung up and started for the garage to meet her. As he walked, Peter could just make out the sound of speaking.

"I'd like it back," he heard Fowler's familiar cadence say, calm as anything. Peter ran. As he came around the corner, he saw Diana, arms raised with Fowler's gun pointed at her. "Burke."

"Fowler. What the hell are you doing?" Peter hissed, raising his hands in front of him slowly.

"Of course you're involved in this," Fowler sighed. He waved the gun toward Peter. "Stay where you are."

"Lower your weapon," Peter warned him, voice low. He wasn't going to be intimidated.

"You have no idea what you're getting-"

"_Lower your weapon_."

"You just stay where you are." Diana's arms raised just a little higher, tugging up her jacket enough that Peter could see her a second gun holstered behind her back.

"Why are you doing this?" Peter demanded, arms still up in front of him, inching closer to Diana. "We're on the same team."

"Stay where you are," Fowler spat. "You're out of your league." Peter inched closer still, hand going out of Fowler's sight behind Diana's back. "You have no idea what you're getting involved in."

"You don't want to shoot an agent." Peter's fingers grazed the butt of the gun. In a swift movement, he drew it and took aim at Fowler, who followed suit. "Put your gun down."

"Drop the weapon," Fowler ordered.

"Put your gun down!"

"Drop the weapon!"

In a flash, Diana drew her other gun and trained it on Fowler. Fowler rounded on her, and in the moment of confusion, Peter shot. Twice.

Fowler lurched back against his car, gasping for air. Peter and Diana rushed over. There was no blood spreading on his shirt. Peter popped the buttons to see a bulletproof vest underneath his shirt. He helped Fowler up so the man was in a position where he could breath easier. "Breathe, breathe. Breathe Fowler." Fowler coughed and sputtered, desperately drawing in breath.

"How'd you know he was wearing a vest?" Diana asked, impressed.

"I didn't," Peter admitted with a small, guilty smirk. He pulled Fowler, now breathing easier, back up. "What the hell is Mentor?"

"Mentor is legit," Fowler panted. "Caffrey works for us now." Peter's brow furrowed. That didn't make any sense. "She and Kyle are deep undercover for OPR."

"OPR doesn't have deep cover agents," Peter argued. "You are helping her disappear."

"She wants to go," he hissed.

Peter's heart sank. "You met with her again." He shoved Fowler out of the way and peered into the car. Sure enough, a beautiful gold and amber music box rested in back seat. Somehow, she'd managed to get it back from Alex. Peter turned back to Fowler. "Nora's gonna disappear. I need to know where she is." Fowler said nothing, and Peter grabbed him by the front of his jacket. "Tell me where she is!"

"Why do you care?"

Peter turned to Diana, in no mood for games. "Give me the drive." She fished it out of her pocket and handed it over. He held it in Fowler's face. "You want me to upload this to DC? Or do we have something to talk about?"

Fowler sighed. "Airstrip by the Hudson. Hanger four."

* * *

Thankfully, Peter wasn't too late. He ran as Nora headed toward the airplane ready to take off. He could just make out Kyle standing at the top of the stairs, his chocolate brown hair the only distinguishable feature visible from that distance. He was waving at Nora, and she was enthusiastically returning the gesture.

"Nora," he called. She froze in her tracks, her hand falling limply to her side as she turned back to face him. Her face was crestfallen, big blue eyes swimming.

"Are you here to arrest me?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light.

Peter laughed, offering a broad shrug. "Still a civilian," he reminded her. "And I know about Mentor. And I know you can walk away, and it's all legal."

She didn't look convinced. "Then what are you doing here?"

He smiled sadly. "I'm here as your friend."

She sighed. There was conflict in her eyes as she met his evenly. She crossed her arms in front of her, whether from the cold or defiance, Peter couldn't be sure. "You understand I'm getting on that plane."

He started walking slowly toward her. "I also know you're making the biggest mistake of your life."

She drew in a deep breath. "This is what's best for everyone, Peter," she said, though he couldn't help but wonder if she even believed it herself. "You go back to your life, I get to have one of my own."

"You already have one," he corrected her. "Right here." She turned away, biting her lip. "You have people who care about you. You make a difference." Her eyes flicked back to him. "You do."

She looked down for a moment before digging through her purse. He stepped forward to take what she held out to him. She struggled for words for a moment. "Thank you for this," she said softly, and it felt genuine, heartfelt. He looked at it, a slim black wallet, and flipped it open. Her smiling face looked up at him.

Her CI identification.

He shook his head, at a loss for words. "I gotta go," she finally said.

She had gone maybe twenty feet before Peter found his voice. "You said goodbye to everyone but me." She paused, turning back again reluctantly. "Why?"

"I dunno," she lied.

"Yeah, you do. Tell me."

"I don't _know_, okay?" she insisted, stamping her foot on the ground like a child.

"Why?" he demanded.

"You know why."

"Tell me."

He could see the tears streaking down her cheeks. "Because you're the only one who could change my mind," she huffed.

"Did I?"

She didn't answer. He could hear the engines of the airplane starting to whir, and she glanced between it and him, torn.

For a second, Peter thought he had her. Then she started walking again. _Stubborn as a mule_.

For a second, Peter thought she was gone. The she stopped again. _Make the right choice, Nora_.

She turned around, and Peter dared to hope. "Peter."

Nothing could have prepared him for what came next.

It seemed like the world had caught fire. Noise and heat and light flared up all at once, and he watched as the shock wave sent Nora sprawling to the ground. Peter ran forward as she clamored clumsily to her feet.

She turned slowly, eyes locking on the fiery wreckage that lay before them, pieces of metal raining down around the blaze. "NO!" she shrieked.

She started to run, but Peter moved in a flash. His arms wrapped tightly around her middle. "No! No!"

"No," he shouted. "Stay here. Stay back."

"No!" she wailed. "Let me go, Peter! Let me _go_!" She strained against his grasp with everything she had. She continued to scream in agony, stamping at his toes with her heels and scratching at his hands with her long fingernails. Desperate, she began beating her elbow against his chest with all her strength, each blow punctuated by a cry of "Let me _go_!"

Peter gritted his teeth against the pain and did not let go.

Slowly, her heart-rending screams started to quiet into sobs. She slumped against him, completely and utterly defeated, every ounce of fight drained from her lithe body. If he let go, she would have crumpled to the ground with no resistance. Peter turned her around gently. She wobbled unevenly on her feet for a moment, then buried her face against his chest and sobbed. Peter held her for what seemed like an eternity, numb from the cold, snow and ash mingling in the air and falling lightly around them. He held her long after she'd cried herself out, her fingers still clinging tightly to the back of his jacket. He held her until the cry of sirens cut through the air.

**End of Part Two**

Credit song:

_Numbers_ \- Daughter

* * *

_A/N: And that's part two done. Thanks so much for reading. Hope you guys enjoyed it. Haven't quite decided if I'm gonna keep on going with season 2 or not. I'm still having fun with it, though, and season 2 is my favorite season, so I guess we'll see. Thanks again. _

_-Selkie_


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